


Kentucky Whiskey

by niklovr



Category: Justified
Genre: But Not Anti-Canon Either, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Rachel opens up, Raylan gets over Winona, Road Trip, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niklovr/pseuds/niklovr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan & Rachel battle internal conflicts & external forces as they transport a witness cross country. The dangerous journey forces them to re-evalute their relationship & the deeper meaning behind their flirtatious banter. Tim will figure prominently, but not as a third wheel. He has his own relationship woes to muddle through when his personal & professional life intersects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial Ain't a River

Chapter 1: Denial Ain't a River

 

He was the kind of man good girls had been warned about. Soft-spoken voice. Bedroom eyes. A steady sure gait that made a woman look twice although she knew better. _Yeah_ , Rachel Brooks thought, as she watched a woman away stalk from his desk in a huff, _Raylan Givens had a way about him_ , and it would serve Rachel well to remember that.

 

A loud frustrated grunt came from the next desk. Against her better judgment, Rachel looked over. Without anything between them, their gazes locked. This wasn't the first time, but unlike all the others, Rachel didn't look away. The annoyance that had darkened his forehead faded as the single look lengthened, held, and bordered on a stare.

 

_Dangerous game_ , a tiny voice warned in the back of her head. _Look away_ came another one, but she failed to listen. Blood pulsed in her veins. This was craziness. In any minute, Gutterson would return and make an insinuation. Or worse, Art would step from his office and bark an order. All these scenarios played briefly, but none were strong enough to convince her to blink let alone turn away.

 

Then he stood.

 

Eyes still on her, his long stride had him at her desk before Rachel could think to breathe. What now? Should she play it off? Make it about the job? Or make her interest known? Give herself the opportunity to becoming another notch on his bedpost? At that thought, reality set in and the cord of excitement wavered just a bit.

 

"Did you see all that?" he asked with the tiniest smirk on his face. "Heard an earful, too."

 

"Not really," she answered honestly.

 

"My apologies for the distraction."

 

She shrugged. "None needed."

 

"Sure?"

 

Rachel smiled. "Positive."

 

R&R

 

_Positive_ , she said. The little straitlaced spitfire made the singular word sound seductive and promising.

 

_Damn_.

 

Raylan had nodded once and walked away then. She was one of those good girls. Far too good for the likes of him. Probably wouldn't put up with his shit anyway. Not that he looked for shit. Shit just had a way of finding him.

 

Not ten seconds later, Art called them both into his office. She walked ahead of him and he reminded himself to keep his eyes and mind off the enticing curve of her rear and slight seductive sway of her hips. He had yet to see her in a dress, but with the fit of her slacks, he didn't need to. Well, maybe the vision would be a sweet sight to behold.

 

Art sat them down and closed the door. He handed them folders and started with the particulars of the case. Raylan tried to ignore the surge of anticipation at the chance of working with Rachel again.

 

"You're on transporting duty." Art gestured toward the documentation. "Darla Jenkins is a key witness in the Cassalotti trial."

 

"The girlfriend," Raylan said, leafing through the papers. "She's been in WITSEC?"

 

"Yup, safe and sound, so it's your jobs to make sure she makes it to the witness stand in the same condition."

 

"It says here she's afraid to fly," Rachel said. "We're driving her back?"

 

"That's right."

 

"From California?" Raylan said.

 

"Right again," Art said. "Can't get anything past you. Your flight leaves in an hour."

 

R&R

 

The ride to the airport was strangely quiet. Not they were the best of friends in a co-worker kind of way, but there was usually some kind of banter if not about the case, about the weather. By the time they were buckled in inside the 747, Rachel wondered if the flirting, slight as it was, had spooked the seasoned Marshal.

 

_Who woulda thunk it?_

 

She considered laying it out in the open. This detail would last close to a week. It wouldn't do for tension to hang between them. The Cassalotti case had to come first. No, actually, keeping the witness safe was even more important than that. As usual, professional won over personal.

 

"Rachel?"

 

"Yeah?" It surprised her that he spoke first.

 

"You're awfully quiet…"

 

"Me?" She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him.

 

"I was wondering…" He twirled his Stetson between his hands. The ring on his right ring finger caught the light from the sun filtering through the window. After a few more twirls, he set the hat on his knee. "Are you okay?"

 

"Me?"

 

"Yes, you," he said. He made a show of looking around at the other passengers before fixing her with his undivided attention. "There's nobody else on this plane I know or care about. And don't you dare say 'me?' again."

 

"Well, I…" She blinked. He cared about her?

 

"You have two fatal shootings under your belt now," he said, leaning in close so that their conversation could not be overheard. "Every time any of us try to talk to you about it, you shut us down. In fact, you've been quiet."

 

"Qui—"

 

"Rachel," he warned. "Yes, quiet. This transport should be easy. Fly to Los Angeles and drive back. No big deal, but the easiest assignments can go haywire. I've seen it happen."

 

"You just want to make sure I have your back."

 

The smile lit up his eyes. "I'm not worried about my back."

 

"You're worried about mine?" she asked, incredulous. She couldn't believe they were having this conversation. Just minutes ago, she wondered if he had freaked out about their little game of eyesex, but oh no. His mind was on her shooting history!

 

"I know everyone thinks I'm trigger happy—"

 

"No one thinks that."

 

She managed to get the words out with a straight face and he gave her a cute grin for the effort.

 

"Sure, as I was saying. We got 7 hours of air time. Just you and me. No Art. No Tim. No department shrink."

 

Rachel sighed. How could a secret office crush turn into such a hard case for her deepest thoughts? He was supposed to be the hardnosed, long arm of the law type. Hell, he wore a Stetson and cowboy boots for goodness sakes!

 

"So what, you're my priest?" She tugged on his tie. "Is there a collar under there? All this time I thought you had a red cape."

 

"Deflection is a technique I'm damn good at," he said, "so I recognize it. But you know it makes me wonder why."

 

"I told you before, I'm good."

 

"Denial ain't a river in Egypt."

 

Rachel gasped. "I'm not in denial." How dare he? He didn't know her well enough to even suggest it.

 

"I won't press—"

 

"Really?" She didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

 

"You ever been to LA?"

 

Change of conversation? She was down for that. "Nope. My first time. You?"

 

"I've been out a few times."

 

So began their conversation about Los Angeles and interesting sights. Rachel found herself mildly amused. It seemed they'd more than made it up for the silence from before. Mid-flight the exchanges shifted to the paperwork and strategies for getting their witness safely back to Lexington. After awhile, yawns crept in. Rachel tried to hold them, but she failed miserably.

 

Raylan called the flight attendant and got them both pillows and blankets. He settled back with the Stetson on his lap. When he closed his eyes, Rachel allowed herself the indulgence of admiring his profile. She wouldn't let herself think. So, he cared about her, and no, she could not let herself dwell on that. Wanting could come from that. Lusting from afar was one thing, but wanting up close could create complications she didn't need. Sighing, she closed her eyes and drifted off. Even in sleep, determined not to dream about him.

 

R&R

 

Raylan could have kicked himself. He went in too hard. Came on too strong. But he hadn't lied. He was worried about her. The first kill was not as simple as swatting flies on the steps of your grandmother's back porch. He'd stood not five feet from her. She hadn't flinched. At the second kill, he arrived soon after and she'd been just as cocksure then.

 

He glanced down at where her beautiful head rested on his shoulder. She looked so peaceful, almost angelic. Hell, she didn't even sleep with her mouth open. He pulled the blanket up around her. In an hour, the veil of professionalism would drop over them again. Whatever started in that morning in the office had to be pushed down. Forgotten. And God knew, blurting out that he cared had the potential to bite him in the ass later.

 

Raylan was a reckless sonovabitch. Screw the consequences. He did care about Rachel, and he didn't give a damn that she knew.


	2. What the Heart Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Rachel pick up their witness, and her awareness of their UST puts one of the Marshals on notice.

Chapter 2: Heart Wants What the Heart Wants

 

Los Angeles had a restless energy. Raylan wasn't sure if he liked it. Of course having endured Miami, he didn't have a right to complain. At times, he missed it. The culture. The sunshine. The palm trees. The food. Kentucky was home, but there was something about Miami, and Los Angeles kind of reminded him of the reasons why he wasn't keen on going back.

 

Lucky for them, the witness lived in Westchester. Not quite in the heart of Los Angeles, wherever that was, if the place even had a heart. No detour through Hollywood or its infamous side. Not even a view of the Pacific would be required to get them to the Jenkins house.

 

The ride down Sepulveda Boulevard from LAX was quick and painless. Because the GPS offered a straight shot via the street, he opted to avoid the freeway. A glance at Rachel and he couldn't tell if she was disappointed at avoiding an immediate introduction to the 405 or was eager to see the sites of the side streets.

 

"So this is LA," he said, braking at a red light. "Notice the smog…the palm trees."

 

"I've counted seven since we left Hertz," Rachel said. "Tim said those burgers are the best."

 

To their left was a fast food burger joint. Cars were wrapped around the building and leaked onto the side street. But the local interest in the food stand wasn't what irked him.

 

"Tim said?" Raylan turned his head to hide the snarl that wanted to follow those words. "Yeah, In-n-Out isn't bad."

 

"Judging by that line, they're better than that."

 

He chuckled. "Are you trying to tell me you're hungry?"

 

"Maybe."

 

He laughed out right. Annoyance at the mention of Gutterson was a thing of the past. Of course, he reserved the right to explore it later. Hell, fuck Tim. He'd rather focus on Rachel. Her cryptic responses were predictable and cute. "In-n-Out now or later? There are more restaurants."

 

"We'd better pick up the witness first," she said, glancing at her watch.

 

"Miss Efficient."

 

He felt her bristle. The lightness between them evaporated quickly.

 

"Was that a dig?"

 

"Nope," he answered honestly. "Nothing wrong with efficiency."

 

"Yeah, that was definitely a dig."

 

Okay, maybe it was a dig, he thought. He wasn't sure how she took it. Teasing her was fun, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Gauging her was always hard. Sometimes she wore a half smile even in the most strained situations. He recognized it as a mask of protection. For the first time, he realized he wanted to see her unmasked.

 

"If you're hungry," she said, her tone returning to even, "we can stop at that iHop."

 

Raylan grimaced. "We have iHop in Lexington."

 

Her half smile widened. "There's a Grinder's across the street."

 

"No, we'll do In-n-Out. I'd hate for us to come all this way and you never taste a double-double with cheese complete with fries and a shake. I'd feel like I failed as a partner."

 

He heard her shift on her seat. He looked away from traffic to see that she was searching her phone. Then, she said, "There aren't any between here and the house."

 

"We'll pick her up," he said. "Then we'll eat."

 

R&R

 

_Miss Efficient_ , he called her. Rachel knew Raylan didn't play by the rules. Well, not by traditional rules. He had rules, but they were his. The rules that Rachel and even Tim adhered to didn't always work for Raylan. It caused them to clash at times. Tim fought back with snark. Rachel ignored their pissing contests for the most part. But that didn't mean the dig didn't get to her.

 

So, she was efficient? So getting the job done the right way with a minimal body count mattered to her? So, what? So, why did it bother her when he made the comment? Two words shouldn't have made her hackles rise. They weren't on a pleasure trip. This was work. Her hurt feelings had no place here when the most important thing was keeping their witness safe.

 

Rachel could feel him balancing his attention between her and traffic. The offer to grab lunch but really dinner after they picked up Darla Jenkins was an olive branch. His tone hadn't been condescending, so she wouldn't allow herself to take it that way. _Smooth your feathers_ , she told herself. _Raylan's just being Raylan_. She needed to chill.

 

He guided the black Explorer onto a tree-lined street. The suburban neighborhood reminded her of the old nighttime soap that her grandmother loved, _Knots Landing_. The lawns were all perfect. There were a few more palm trees dotted here and there. Couples walked their dogs. A woman pushed a stroller down the sidewalk. A couple of kids were on their bikes. All of this Rachel mentally noted. Finally, he pulled onto a carport in front of a two-car garage.

 

A curtain fluttered at one of the windows of the single-story adobe home. She and Raylan left the SUV and moved purposely toward the door. Assuming a charade for the benefit of possible onlookers, he placed his hand at her back. Rachel pretended that his touch didn't affect her. It was just a job.

 

She pushed the doorbell and not a second passed before the door opened. A tall medium-sized woman with a complexion the color of pecan pie filling stood at the door. Rachel flashed her star and quickly identified herself.

 

"Darla Jenkins?" Raylan asked from right behind Rachel. His twang rumbled against her ear.

 

"Yes."

 

"Hug me like we're old friends in case someone's watching," Rachel said as she pulled Darla into a quick embrace.

 

Raylan pulled the door closed behind them. Rachel heard the click of locks falling into place.

 

"I didn't realize they'd send two," Darla ran a hand through a close-cropped curls. "Are we leaving now?"

 

"Are you ready?" Raylan asked.

 

"Not quite. It'll only take a minute. I'd offer you a seat, but…" A slight frown creased her brow as they all looked at the empty house. "I'll only take a minute."

 

After she left them, Rachel could not resist the urge to check the kitchen and other rooms. Raylan went in the other direction and she knew he was doing the same. They both met in the living room. He narrowed his eyes at her and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

 

"Empty?" Rachel mouthed.

 

He nodded.

 

"Why?"

 

Just then, Darla returned with her purse, a backpack, and a rolling suitcase. She appeared ready. "Why is the house empty?"

 

"Yeah," Raylan said slowly. "We were wondering that."

 

"If I make it out of this thing alive, I'm not coming back here."

 

"We'll get you to Lexington safely," Rachel said.

 

Darla gave her a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not worried about that. It's the afters. Giving testimony will have consequences. I've already faced some. I can't be too prepared about the rest."

 

"You'll go back into WITSEC," Raylan said. "Excuse me, witness protection when it's over."

 

"The Cassalotti's have a long memory. This will never be over unless they're all dead," Darla said. "Every last one of them. Nik warned me. I should have listened."

 

R&R

 

Raylan honored his promise and stopped at In-n-Out. The enjoyment at watching Rachel inhale the double-double with cheese should have worried him, but he pushed it aside. Instead, he chose to ponder their charge. The witness wasn't like the usual mob girlfriends turn federal witnesses that he'd protected in the past. She was cool, quiet, and offered no excuses or apologies for having bedded the bad guy. Her matter of fact view of the outcome of her testimony surprised him. Hell, nothing shocked him more than the empty house. Talk about being a prepared girl scout!

 

"I never made it past Brownie," Darla said, biting into a fry.

 

Raylan coughed to hide his embarrassment. What other thoughts had he said aloud? He glanced at Rachel for clarification. She still wore that mysterious half smile that drove him crazy.

 

"I went to Cadette," she said.

 

"Is that the highest level?" he asked. His back was to the wall. They were at an In-n-Out in Riverside. There had been a steady stream of patrons since their arrival. He and Rachel were both just as aware of the clientele as they were of their witness and their food.

 

"Nope, right below it."

 

"What stopped you from reaching the top?" he asked, curious.

 

"Middle school."

 

Darla's smile was nostalgic. "Ah, boys."

 

"Guilty," Rachel said.

 

The admission surprised Raylan. She didn't seem the boy crazy type. Hell, he didn't even know if she dated. Did she have a boyfriend? Dare he ask?

 

While he was summoning the courage and weighing his odds, both women stood.

 

"Restroom," Rachel said. She reached for their trash, but Raylan grabbed it.

 

"I'll meet you outside."

 

He had the motor and the A/C running when the women stepped from the restaurant. He felt almost stalkerish as he compared the two. Both were pretty. Hell, they were beautiful women. Despite the job, Rachel's face still carried a hint of innocence. Darla with her high cheekbones and wise brown eyes seemed to know all the secrets of the world and had been burdened by them. The height difference was telling. Their witness had at least five inches on Rachel. Having seen her in action, he knew the height deficit was not a hindrance. She was a tough and capable Marshal.

 

Darla climbed into the backseat and Rachel stopped at his window. "I'll drive."

 

"I don't mind," he said with his hand on the door handle.

 

"I know." She opened the door.

 

Raylan settled in the passenger seat and buckled in. The trio was quiet as Rachel guided them out of Riverside and onto I-15. In Barstow, they'd merge onto the 40. He supposed sometime after that or maybe near Flagstaff, they'd switch off and he'd take over. Or better still, they'd stop and call it a night.

 

"You know," Rachel said, "you look familiar."

 

"I bet," Darla replied.

 

Raylan turned to look over his shoulder. Her eyes were unreadable behind the dark sunglasses, but the clenched hands in her lap spoke volumes. He directed his attention on his partner. He wondered what she was getting at.

 

"No, from before all of this" Rachel said. "I've seen you before."

 

"Maybe."

 

Damn, Raylan thought. Here, he'd given Rachel the award for cryptic responses. He'd jumped the gun. Darla was giving her stiff competition!

 

"No, I'm sure of it. I saw you perform on Beale Street. Gosh that had to have been in 2002. Maybe 2001. It was awhile ago."

 

"I'll say," Darla murmured, barely audible.

 

"Was that you?" Rachel persisted.

 

Raylan glanced at her face. She didn't appear agitated, mostly curious. Still, he couldn't help but wonder where she was going with this.

 

"Could have been. In 2002, I had the misfortune of being in Memphis."

 

"Are you a singer?" Raylan asked.

 

"Used to be," Darla responded. "I used to be a lot of things. So, yes, once upon a time, I was a singer. Not anymore, though."

 

"You were great," Rachel said. "No, really. My friends and I drove up a few times just to hear you."

 

"Drove up from where?"

 

"Ole Miss."

 

"Hmm…that's the route I should have taken," Darla said. "Maybe not necessarily there, but somewhere."

 

"College isn't for everyone. You can't be taught a voice like yours. You're born with it."

 

"Thank you."

 

Feeling a little left out, Raylan said, "I didn't know you were into the blues."

 

"I'm not," Rachel said.

 

From the backseat, Darla chuckled.

 

"But…Beale Street…"

 

"Not all clubs on Beale Street play blues 24/7, Mr. Marshal Man—"

 

"Please. My name is Raylan," he said. "So, what do you sing?"

 

"Whatever. R&B, pop, country…I was billed as _'eclectic_.'"

 

"Hmm…" Raylan settled back against his seat. He tapped his fingers on his knee and stared out at the passing desert scenery.

 

"What?" Rachel asked.

 

"Just wondering," he said.

 

"Again, what?" she asked, a hint of annoyance lingering in her voice.

 

"You never turn on the radio when we're driving back and forth between Harlan and Lexington."

 

"So?"

 

"So, what kind of music do you like? Musicians play at the bar. Sometimes they're pretty good. I can't vouch for all of them."

 

He heard a faint giggle in the back. When he quickly turned to verify, their witness sat still and her mouth was a straight line. He glanced at Rachel and her expression was contemplative.

 

"Well?" he asked, becoming a tad annoyed himself.

 

"Well what?"

 

"If I know what you like, I can… You like music. Stop by sometime."

 

Her silence remained for several more miles. He was on the brink of rescinding the offer. Then she finally said, "I have eclectic taste. It depends on the music, I guess."

 

"That's vague."

 

"That's my answer," she snapped.

 

A louder giggle came from the backseat. Raylan didn't bother to turn around. He didn't need to confirm with his witness how badly he was fucking this up.

 

R&R

 

Rachel knew she shouldn't have jumped down his throat. Turning on the radio should have eased the tension, but it only made her feel worse. Thankfully, the fuel light signaled the need for a pit stop and she pulled over. Raylan hopped out before she could shift into park. From the sideview mirror, she watched him fill up the tank. He sauntered to her window and she opened the door.

 

"Refreshments are on me," he said. "What would you ladies like? Candy, beverages, magazines?"

 

"Anything?" Rachel asked, accepting yet another olive branch from him.

 

"Within reason."

 

She was starting to feel the drain of the time difference and the drive. "Coke and plain M&Ms would be great. Thanks."

 

He smiled. "No problem. Darla?"

 

"Water, I guess. Reese's and a copy of _People_ ," she said. "Thanks."

 

He nodded and headed inside the store.

 

"He's not so bad," Darla said.

 

Rachel hesitated responding. She feared giving herself away. "No."

 

"The saying about good ones being hard to find is true," the other woman said. "Nik was… He wasn't necessarily bad. He tried. There were warning signs, but what can you do? The heart wants what the heart wants."

 

"That's why we have heads to keep us in line," Rachel spoke more to remind herself.

 

"True dat."

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean…"

 

"No problem. Head and heart go to war all the time. It's a toss up as to who'll win and to which is right," Darla said. "Have you two been partners long?"

 

"We're not necessarily partners. We all work together in an office. This is an assignment."

 

"Hmm…"

 

Dare she bite? Rachel wondered. Was the witness getting at something? Or was she planning to jump Raylan as so many women often did? If so, why did the thought annoy the hell out of Rachel? An office crush shouldn't lead to her being jealous.

 

"What?" The word was out before Rachel could stop herself.

 

"Nothing," Darla said. "Nothing at all. I'm not interested."

 

"Wh-what?" Rachel sputtered. "Who said anything—"

 

"Here's your stuff," Raylan said, bag in hand. Upon meeting Rachel's eyes, he asked, "What did I do?"

 

"Nothing. Thanks."

 

"I'll drive."

 

"Fine." Mentally sputtering, she stepped from the car, walked around to the driving side, and promptly slammed herself in.

 

"Did you ladies need to use the um…facilities?"

 

They both declined. Raylan got them back on the road. If he was concerned about the tension, he kept it himself. For that, Rachel was grateful. A few swigs of Coke and bites of M&Ms calmed her somewhat. The chocolate soothed her system and gave her pause.

What had gotten her so riled? Was it Darla's admission of not being interested in Raylan therefore he was free game for Rachel, or was it being outed in the first place? And by a witness no less!

 

If she was that obvious to a stranger, what the hell were Art, Tim, and the rest of the office thinking? Stricken by that possibility, she was drawn to search his profile. What was Raylan thinking?

 

He chose that moment to glance at her. His eyes showed concern. His mouth curved into that adorable little smile. She found herself returning the gesture. Obviously, whatever he thought of her, it wasn't bad. She could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out the story and reviewing! Reviews are encouraged. You'd be surprised how your insight provides inspiration for writers!
> 
> Regarding Winona, she may make an appearance. She is pregnant with his child and that can't be ignored. As for her being the absolute love of his life…hmm… Well, not necessarily and definitely not in this fic. She won't be vilified in this story, but Raylan will come to terms with their relationship and how the patterns have affected him. I'm considering the possibility of including more of Tim in the fic once they return to Lexington. But I'm also torn with making this a strictly R&R fic. Decisions, decisions. Argh! Lol
> 
> Yes, there was a character name change. A revised version of the first chapter will be uploaded soon.]


	3. Just a Little Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night conversation between Marshals.

Chapter 3: Just a Little Understanding

 

The sight of the big red six against the bright blue square was a beacon for weary eyes. In the dark of night, Winslow, Arizona, provided little entertainment for sight-seeing, but Rachel didn't care. Her eyes burned. Her feet ached. Her back hurt. She was ready to lay it down for the night and when the conversation with her companions became silent, she knew they were ready for the same.

 

They checked in and secured rooms on the second floor, overlooking a turquoise blue pool. She and Darla had Room 223. Raylan was next door in 224. With just a bag each containing the bare essentials for the night, the women entered the room. Rachel stepped through first to check the room. After she cleared it, she took a moment to assess their surroundings.

 

Blue shag carpeting covered the floor. The bright orange walls would live in her memory forever. And the blue bedspreads were like something from a 70s sitcom.

 

"Whew." She ran a hand over her eyes. "It's not the Ritz."

 

"But it'll do," Darla added. She used a tissue to tug the bed cover off. "One can't ever be too careful."

 

Rachel nodded before disappearing inside the bathroom. Once inside, she washed up and stripped down to a t-shirt and shorts. By the time, she pulled her hair into a ponytail she was more than ready to hit the sheets. The return to the bedroom came the discovery that Darla had changed from traveling clothes to a pair of shorts and a tee, too. The other woman had spread the bed cover on the floor and was working through a series of pushups.

 

"I'll be done soon."

 

"Don't hurry on my account."

 

Rachel stepped around her. To be honest, she was impressed. She hated pushups. Judging from Darla's form, cut biceps, and measured breathing, she probably had no problem with it.

 

She used the same technique to remove the bedspread from her bed. As she sat on the edge, she found her eyes drawn back to her roommate. Now, Darla was on to sit ups. Her t-shirt rose with every up movement, and Rachel couldn't help but notice the scarring that disfigured Darla's back.

 

The report mentioned a bombing, but it failed to provide how bad the injuries were. Words on a page didn't really do it justice. Evidence of love gone wrong was a painful sight. Rachel couldn't imagine making the choices that would lead to that kind of bodily harm.

 

"Done," Darla said. A faint sheen glistened her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand as she stood and faced Rachel. "Sorry about before."

 

"What before?" Rachel asked.

 

"Me talking too much. Your relationship with the other Marshal is none of my business—"

 

"There is no relationship."

 

Darla nodded once. "Okay, then your non-relationship—"

 

"We work together," Rachel cut in to clarify. "We're business associates."

 

The other woman stepped back and grabbed her bag. "You don't have to explain it to me. Like I said, I talk too much. I think I'm doing it again."

 

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but Darla disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat dumbfounded. Had she put her foot in her mouth again? Had she protested too much? _Shit_. Was she overthinking it?

 

More questions threatened to interrupt a good night's sleep. Then her cell phone buzzed. One look at the display and expletives exploded from her mouth. She had half a mind not to answer it. But knowing the caller, her silence would just be seen as a challenge.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

She grabbed her phone, gun, and key card and she stepped outside.

 

"Joe," she said, by way of greeting. "Don't."

 

"Rachel, c'mon," her soon to be ex-husband said. "You don't even know why I'm calling."

 

"Have you signed the papers?"

 

"No—"

 

"Then your reason for calling doesn't matter." Rachel looked up at the night sky. She counted the stars. The twinkle, twinkle song used to make everything feel happy and light when she was a little girl. Too bad the little diddy didn't work anymore.

 

"Five years don't matter to you?" Joe asked.

 

"That's not what I said." She sighed. "Look, I'm tired and I'm working. Calling is…unless you're telling me you finally signed then… Well, calling is a waste—"

 

"I want you back—"

 

"Oh, please."

 

"If you could stop just five seconds and remember that you're my wife and not some gunslinging Marshal—"

 

Rachel rolled her eyes. Joe dissing her job was nothing new. He should have gotten a new routine by now. "And just forget everything else?"

 

"I never said that," he said. "Don't twist what I'm saying. We can make this work." He released a long, drawn out sigh. "I'll go to counseling."

 

"Joe."

 

"That's what you wanted."

 

"A year ago," she said, leaning against the rail to look down at the pool. "Twelve months ago. Three hundred sixty five days—"

 

"Dammit, Rachel!"

 

"No, damn you, Joe! Just sign the fucking papers and leave me alone!" She ended the call. Shaking, she pressed the phone to her forehead and muttered, "Dammit."

 

R&R

 

It wasn't Raylan's intention to eavesdrop. He had showered and dressed for bed when he heard the door open next door. Bone-tired and weary, he had grabbed his piece with one hand and reached for the doorknob with the other. Only the sound of Rachel's agitated voice stopped him. Against everything that was decent and right that burned in his gut, he lingered at his window. The desperate pull of the full size bed, sheets and pillows lacked in comparison to the woman out on the balcony. When she ended the call, he couldn't stop himself from pulling on a pair of jeans and joining her outside.

 

"Overheard that, huh?"

 

"Wasn't trying to."

 

"Didn't mean to get loud. Joe brings that out."

 

"Certain people have that affect on us."

 

"I'm okay," Rachel said.

 

"Never thought otherwise," he said.

 

He knew only an asshole would ogle her shapely calves, red-tipped toes and firm thighs. Lord help him but the fit of her white t-shirt against her mocha skin would certainly do him in. Raylan decided he had to think of something else lest she read the lust in his eyes and slapped the shit out of him. Of course, he'd deserve it. But still. The hollowness in her voice and the slump in her shoulders meant that she needed an ear to listen, not a dick to ride. He could provide one without the other. He wasn't a complete asshole.

 

Raylan rested his hip against the railing and looked down. He'd swear he could smell the chlorine from there.

 

"This'll stay here, right?"

 

"Whatever happens in Winslow, stays in Winslow," he replied. Upon her nod, he added, "I could learn a lot from you."

 

"How so?" She still hadn't looked at him. Her hand trembled some, and the slump hadn't left her shoulders. "What could you learn from me? How to submit your reports on time?"

 

"No," he said, drawing out the word. "How to keep my private shit out of the office. We've worked together…how long? I had no clue you were married."

 

Silence came and lingered. It unnerved him. Maybe he'd misspoken. Shit. It wasn't like her marital status was any of his business. He was just so curious! She was the quintessential mysterious woman. She was meant to be unraveled. He was dying to know her secrets. But there was that fucking quiet.

 

"On that note, I'll take your silence as my cue—"

 

"No, wait," she said.

 

"Hold that thought." Raylan stepped back inside his room and grabbed two chairs.

 

She opted to sit cross-legged. He scooted low and rested his legs on the rails.

 

"I can't afford to bring my shit to work."

 

"Because you're a black woman?"

 

"Yes," she told him. "The game is different for me. Forgetting that can cost me."

 

Raylan had never considered the job from her perspective. He had never imagined what it was like for her. He wasn't sure if he could.

 

"Is that why you never talk about the kills?"

 

She sighed. "Raylan."

 

"Rachel."

 

"What do you want me to say?" she asked. "You keep harping on it like you expect me to—to… I don't know. Is Art behind this?"

 

"Honestly?"

 

She finally looked at him and glared.

 

"He's concerned." Raylan lifted his hand in defense. "But I'm the one doing the asking."

 

"Because I'm a woman?"

 

He frowned. The questioned stumped him, and he knew giving her a half-assed answer wouldn't suffice. He'd told her before that he cared and that was a fact. Was that the only reason he kept dogging her to talk about it?

 

"Partly."

 

"Hmm…" she murmured.

 

"Hey, you asked."

 

"Indeed I did." She pulled her knees to her chest and squeezed.

 

By now, she had placed her gun, phone, and key card on the floor beside her chair. All were within easy reach. Raylan memorized the placement of her items because it faired better than staring at her legs and feet.

 

"It was bound to happen one day," she said.

 

He frowned. "That's it?"

 

"That's all I've got."

 

Raylan recognized persistent hedging. He'd learned it at his father's knee. Arlo could dance around a subject like he was dancing a jig. Rachel would have given the old man a run for his money.

 

"Fine," he said.

 

"Appreciate you caring enough to ask."

 

He smiled. There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, but it didn't surprise him. Divorce caused a person to waver on trust. He knew about that like he knew about other things.

 

"You two okay in there?"

 

"We're fine." Rachel glanced at her room and then leaned toward him. "Did you read the file?"

 

"I glanced through it. Why?"

 

"There was a bombing," she said.

 

Raylan nodded. He remembered reading about that. "Is she talking?"

 

"No." She shook her head. A troubled expression marked her pretty face.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Nothing." Rachel stood, yawned, and stretched. "We have a long drive tomorrow."

 

"Hmm…" He averted his eyes, but he couldn't be sure it was fast enough. _Damn, her body was tight._

 

"You okay?" She lingered in her doorway.

 

"Nothing a shower won't cure."

 

She gave him a smile that made him wonder. "Goodnight, Raylan."

 

"G'night, Rachel." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks again for checking out this story! The comments and kudos are appreciated so don't be shy. The road trip is becoming an eye opener for both of them. Slowly, but surely. Raylan doesn't always do slow when it comes to his women. Maybe this will be good for him. But what about Rachel? How much did her office crush play into the dissolution of her marriage??? Hmm…]


	4. A Woman's Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan ponders Rachel's interactions with men. Rachel questions Raylan's future with Winona. Meanwhile, things heat up with their assignment.

Chapter 4: A Woman's Perspective

 

The endless stretch of highway from Arizona to New Mexico gave Raylan's mind time to tumble like the weeds rolling out in the desert landscape. The late night talk with Rachel had left him wound up. A cold shower had cured part of what ailed him. There was nothing to help the rest.

 

He hadn't been playing her when he'd said she offered a lesson for him. To work together for as long as they had without knowing hide or hair of a spouse indicated serious skill. Hell, the entire office had known about him and Ava and Winona and Lindsey. Their knowledge made him feel cheap somehow. Not to mention the collective archive dedicated to Arlo. Then there was Boyd. He groaned.

 

"What?" Rachel asked from the passenger seat.

 

"Nothing," he mumbled.

 

He felt her eyes stay on him a second or two longer. She added nothing, so he remained tight-lipped. Not necessarily sullen, but he needed the quiet to mull things over. Just a little bit longer.

 

"Okay," she said. "Mind?" She reached for the radio.

 

"Go ahead."

 

"Any requests?" Rachel asked.

 

"No talk radio, please," came from Darla in the back.

 

"Raylan?"

 

"Whatever," he said. "I'm with Darla about the talking heads."

 

He tuned out the flickering through the stations. They seemed out of range of anything good. He wondered if she would give up, but she didn't. Rachel kept pushing the arrow for the next station. Static, stupid early DJs, or teen pop did not deter her.

 

So that made Raylan wonder about her marriage. What would cause her to give up and go for the Big D? She didn't seem like a quitter. If anything, she was a fighter, a "see-it- through-to-the-end" type. After his return to the shower and its steady stream of cold water, he'd fallen into bed and spent a good portion of the night thinking about her and Joe.

 

Her end of the conversation and the slump of her shoulders had him creating all sorts of scenarios. What was the "year, twelve months" thing about? What kind of man was Joe? Did she fall out of love with him? Had the job done them in?

 

A familiar rhythm caught his attention. He touched her hand to keep her from changing the station. The softness of her skin got to him so he pulled his hand back fast to prevent giving himself away.

 

"Cash," he murmured.

 

_'I keep a close watch on this heart of mine_

_I keep my eyes wide open all the time…'_

 

"I Walk the Line," Darla stated. "This is classic."

 

For about three minutes, only the sound of Johnny Cash and the wheels hitting the asphalt filled the cabin of the Explorer. When the song ended, Raylan glanced in the rearview mirror to find Darla's gaze ready and waiting for him.

 

"Eclectic taste?" he asked.

 

"Yeah. He's amazing. 'Folsom Prison Blues'…with just the lyrics." She shrugged. "Then you add his voice? It's timeless."

 

Raylan directed his next question to Rachel. "So, this is what you heard on Beale Street?"

 

Half smile in place, she shook her head. "Not even close." Rachel shifted in the passenger seat to face their witness. "Doesn't sound like you're really done with music?"

 

"Done with music? I never said that."

 

"What are your plans after the trial?" Raylan asked to keep the conversation going and his mind from wandering. "The empty house hints that you're not going back to LA."

 

"I told you. I don't know. If I make it through the trial—"

 

"You'll make it," Rachel said.

 

"You guys are trained to be…" Her sigh, although soft, was hard to ignore.

 

"Be what?" Raylan asked. "Your protection doesn't end when we get to Lexington."

 

"And it will continue after the trial if that's what you want," Rachel added.

 

"I know."

 

"Giving testimony isn't a death sentence," Rachel said.

 

"I'm not bragging, but we've never lost a witness," Raylan said. "You won't be our first."

 

"Nik's family has a mean streak."

 

"Are you having second thoughts?"

 

"No," she responded quickly to his question. "No way. I'd rather die than help them get away with what they've done."

 

Those were fighting words if ever Raylan'd heard them. He and Rachel didn't have to worry about this witness cutting tail and running before being sworn in. Another glance in the rearview and he discovered that she was hiding behind dark lenses again. His attention back on the road, he said the first thing that came to mind.

 

"So from a woman's perspective, what's the most important thing a man can teach her?"

 

"Raylan," Rachel said, her tone a level above deadly, "are you serious?"

 

"I don't mean it that way!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What I'm asking is what do you wish men knew?"

 

Darla giggled. The sound then erupted into full on laughter. "He's serious," she said through gasps.

 

"What's so funny?" he asked, perplexed.

 

"What was in your coffee?" Rachel asked.

 

"Sugar."

 

The giggles subsided a bit. He checked out the rearview mirror again. Darla had removed the sunglasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. Meanwhile beside him, Rachel sat stiff as a board. He returned his gaze to the road and reconsidered his question.

 

"Well, she'll need to know things and I didn’t even have girl cousins—"

 

"This is about your daughter." Rachel seemed almost relieved to make the statement.

 

Raylan nodded. "Of course—"

 

"You're a father?" Darla asked. "I thought you—Never mind. How old is she?"

 

"She's due." He tried hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. With Winona miles away, he wondered if he'd even get a call the day his child was born. Of course, that was fear talking, he reasoned. Winona wasn't immune to grudges, but she wouldn't keep him from his child. Would she?

 

"Oh…okay." Darla coughed once and managed a softly spoken, "Congratulations."

 

"Thanks."

 

He felt her retreat more than he saw it, considering he was the driver he couldn't just turn around and look her dead in the face. Before he could question the sudden change from infectious humor to dull melancholy, he sensed Rachel's eyes on him. She had turned down the radio and was staring openly at him. He wasn't sure if he liked the brazen perusal or not.

 

"Yes?"

 

"The questions were for your daughter."

 

"Yeah," he said.

 

"She's not even born yet."

 

"I'd like to be prepared."

 

"Who's the scout now?"

 

R&R

 

_Prepared?_

 

Rachel had no right questioning his reasons. If Raylan said his sad little interrogation was to help him become a better father, then so be it. Sure, men just randomly threw out "from a woman's perspective" because they wanted to give a 100% to their daughters. Of course, Rachel didn't doubt that he wanted to be a good dad. The doubt entered when she wondered if possibly reuniting with the baby's mother didn't also play into his Q&A.

 

It truly was none of her business. But she'd seen how wrecked he'd been when the ex left him the first time. Hell, everyone had. For a couple of days, Tim had even eased up on the snark. Art had threatened time off. Rachel hadn't known what to say so she'd just continued on as the fellow Marshal. The one whose desk was a step away. If they were partnered up, she went. If he talked about everything under the sun, she went along with that, too. All along, she hadn't been immune to the light that had dimmed in his eyes. He had changed when Winona left. So far, she couldn't determine if it was for the better.

 

A couple of hours later, they stopped for food and to stretch their legs. Maisie's Diner offered the usual greasy fare. After indulging in Los Angeles at the burger joint, Rachel was less inclined to clog her arteries. She ordered a plain ham sandwich on wheat and a cup of soup. Darla did the same. Raylan, on the other hand, tackled the blue plate special. A steaming plate of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and Texas toast looked filling enough to feed a family of five. He dug in with gusto.

 

"I can drive."

 

Both Raylan and Rachel paused mid-chew to look at each other before fixing their stares on Darla. She seemed not phased at all.

 

"Of course, I'm not shit with a gun, but I'm a good driver," Darla said. "Besides, it'll give you both a break and save me from boredom."

 

Raylan cocked an eyebrow in Rachel's direction as he continued to chew. His silent assent to Rachel came as a surprise. She finished the bite she'd been working on and nodded.

 

"Okay."

 

"How is that?" Darla eyed Raylan's plate with suspicion.

 

"I've had better, but it's not awful." He slid his plate toward her. "Want some?"

 

"No thanks."

 

"Rachel?"

 

"I'll pass."

 

"You know the best thing about diners is diner food," Raylan advised. "You two are missing out."

 

Darla smiled. "If you say so—"

 

_'Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_She always gone too long anytime she goes away…'_

 

Rachel saw Raylan's eyes narrow first. Then she noticed how Darla had become quiet and still. The other woman's face had become tense. Her eyes were quickly darting around the small diner. Both Marshals reached for their weapons and moved to stand. Darla shook her head.

 

"I spooked myself."

 

"You did a good job of it," Rachel said. "You spooked me, too."

 

"What happened?"

 

Darla waved toward the ceiling. "That song. Nik used to sing it to me whenever I came back from gigs. He couldn't sing worth shit. Bill Withers had nothing to worry about." She leaned back against the chair and sighed. The pensive expression remained, though.

 

The waitress came over with their check. Rachel handed her the department's Diner Card and asked, "What station is that playing?"

 

"KXYZ 102.7  FM. It's an oldies station. I'll be right back."

 

She called the Lexington office and got Tim on the line.

 

"Hey there," he said. "Has he shot anyone today?"

 

Rachel bit back a smile. "Not yet. Can you check out something for me?"

 

"Of course."

 

She told him about the song and gave him the station ID. He promised to find out if anyone had requested it or if it was just a strange coincidence. He would call her back asap.

 

"I wish you hadn't bothered," Darla said. "A dead man can't make song requests."

 

"Did anyone else know about the song?" Raylan asked.

 

"I doubt it. His family wasn't to keen on our relationship. I haven't heard the song in awhile. I overreacted."

 

The waitress returned with the slip. Rachel signed it. They all made last minute pit stops. Once outside, Darla extended her hand for the keys.

 

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

 

"Yeah. I'll keep you both safe," the other woman said. "I promise."

 

R&R

 

On the road, Raylan recognized that Darla was true to her word. The woman could drive. The craziness of California hadn't rubbed off on her, but hell, a person needed a little crazy to deal with the 405, he reasoned. She handled the Explorer with ease despite the death grip she had on the steering wheel.

 

Though he'd tried to be discreet, she must have sensed his concern. Her head turned in his direction. With the jet black lenses, it was hard to read her eyes, but the deep release of air wasn't hard to define. When she turned back to the road, she leaned back against the seat and relaxed her hold. A bit.

 

It was a fact. The song had disturbed her. He wouldn't take that lightly. From the conversation in the backseat, he knew that Rachel felt the same.

 

She'd been on the phone for the last twenty minutes. She'd said "Tim" once or twice so he knew who was on the other end. Of course, that shouldn't annoy him. The former Army Ranger was a damn good Marshal and whatever info he was providing was necessary. But did she have to smile so much when she talked to him? Was she always so perky with Gutterson? Raylan grunted and looked out the window. To his relief Darla opted for the radio instead of snickering at his distress.

 

"Toby Keith," Darla murmured. "Is Country okay?"

 

"I don’t have a problem with it," he replied.

 

The crooner lamented that he "shoulda been a cowboy" and how he "shoulda learned to rope and ride" while Raylan was drawn back to Rachel's conversation with Tim.

 

"So the song hadn't been requested?" she asked.

 

Whatever Tim replied seemed to reassure Rachel because she nodded and told him that everything else was going well.

 

Being a seasoned lawman, Raylan's gut told him those words were like dangling a carrot in front of the universe. Craziness was bound to find them in one form or another.

 

"How do you know when you have a tail?" Darla asked Raylan.

 

"What?" Raylan never expected the crazies to happen that soon. "A tail? We're being followed? Is that what you're asking me?" He shifted in his seat to get a better look.

 

"That car…the silver sedan… See it?"

 

"Behind the Chevy pick-up? Yeah?" Raylan said. "How long has it been back there?"

 

"I think since Albuquerque," she said. "It could be I'm paranoid. Truth is that song messed with me some."

 

"Take the next exit."

 

Rachel asked, "What's going on?"

 

"We're testing the car behind us."

 

"Testing? How?" she asked. "Are we being followed?" To Tim, she said, "I don't know."

 

Raylan said, "We're about to find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading, commenting, and dropping kudos. Everything is deeply appreciated! Keep it coming! Raylan has been a little distracted, but maybe he's about to do what he does best. Maybe. If he can keep his jealousy under control! ;) There could be a little action in the next chapter and possibly a detour of sorts, too.]


	5. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action heats up.

Chapter 5: Safe and Sound

 

"Rach!"

 

Tim's bark in her ear reminded Rachel that she was in the middle of a telephone conversation. The leisurely drive through Arizona had escalated and it annoyed her that she hadn't seen it coming.

 

"What's going on?" Gutterson asked, sounding more like he was in the backseat with her than a thousand miles away. "Are you being followed?"

 

"We're not sure. We're pulling off at the next ramp."

 

Their SUV started to accelerate. Raylan reached over to squeeze Darla's shoulder. "Keep it steady."

 

As the vehicle slowed, Rachel shifted her position to get a better view of the vehicles behind them. The Chevy pick-up rolled along in the right lane, but coming up fast in the left was a silver sedan. Her pulse quickened.

 

"Tim, we'll check in later." Rachel ended the call and pocketed the phone.

 

The Explorer dropped speed even more. She turned around to see that Darla was taking the exit. The sedan had swerved back into the right lane and was a car length behind their bumper. Rachel tugged her piece free of its holster in anticipation. Just then her phone buzzed in her pocket. She muttered a curse and answered, thinking it was Tim or Art on the other end.

 

"Rachel here."

 

"Hey, beautiful."

 

"Joe?"

 

"Who else calls my wife beautiful?" he asked.

 

"Look, this isn't a good time," she said, trying to keep her tone even. The ramp curved around. She kept her gaze glued to the sedan. It had decelerated as it followed them 'round and 'round.

 

"There's never a good time with you. Shouldn't our marriage come first?"

 

"Dammit—"

 

"I want to see you." He sounded urgent, demanding.

 

Rachel didn't care. "Later!" She ended the call and swallowed the urge to scream.

 

"Who was that?" Raylan asked.

 

"Nobody." She pocketed the phone. By now, they were at the bottom of the ramp.

 

 "Where should I go?" Darla asked.

 

Gas stations were nearby, as were restaurants. Signs indicated that motels were to the left.

 

"Pull into the Shell station," Raylan said.

 

"At the pump?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Darla followed Raylan's instructions and braked at the pump closest to the store. The silver sedan chose the Mobil across the street.

 

"Sonuvabitch," Raylan muttered.

 

"Should I go over there?" Darla asked.

 

"No!" both Rachel and Raylan said simultaneously.

 

"Sit tight." Raylan slipped out of the passenger seat. Gun at his side, he ran across the four-lane street to the Mobil station.

 

Low, even breathing sounded from the driver seat. Rachel noticed that Darla's hands still clutched the steering wheel. She asked, "You okay?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"You're a good driver," she added.

 

"Thanks." Darla freed the wheel of her hold and sighed. "Maybe one of us should get gas."

 

Rachel released a short laugh. "I'll do it. Stay here."

 

"I'm not moving," Darla said.

 

Rachel secured her weapon and climbed from the backseat. She left the door open.

 

"I lost Raylan behind the semi. Can you see him?" Darla asked.

 

"No," Rachel said, "but he's alright."

"How do you know?"

 

"I just do."

 

R&R

 

Raylan crossed behind an eighteen-wheeler to move alongside the sedan. The 2013 Chrysler Sebring had no plates. Even from outside, the new car smell was promising.

Gas was being pumped, but there was no one manning the handle.

 

He went inside the station. It was empty except for the teenage attendant. Rob was on the name on the tag.

 

"Did you see the driver of the Chrysler?"

 

The kid didn't bother to look up from his cell phone. "Nope. Didn't see nothing."

 

"Anyone in the restroom?"

 

"There's just the one outside," the kid answered. "You'll have to check for yourself."

 

Raylan headed to check and discovered that the car was gone.

 

"Fuck!"

 

He hurried back inside. "Which way did the car go?"

 

"What car?" Rob's tone was disinterested as all his focus was on the handheld device balanced on his palm.

 

Raylan muttered another curse. He jerked the phone from the kid's hands mid-text. "Where's the tape of the recording?"

 

"Recording?"

 

"The video camera, moron! Come on. I don't have all day." Raylan flashed his badge for emphasis. He imagined the kid saw the weapon, too, because his eyes grew wide and scared.

 

"Um…well… It's locked in the manager's office—"

 

"I'm a US Marshal and I don't have time for this shit. Where's the office?"

 

The video showed a tall man who wore a cap pulled low over his forehead. He kept his back to the camera. When he pulled in. When he pumped the gas. When he went to the restroom and came out of it. Also, when he returned to the Sebring and drove off. Somehow, the SOB managed to avoid facing the camera every time he was in range. It was an amazing feat.

 

"Can you retrieve the credit card info for pump 3?"

 

Eyes still wide, the kid only shrugged.

 

Raylan didn't waste anymore time there and ran back across to the Shell. Rachel was tearing the receipt off. Both women wore tight smiles at his return.

 

"Did you see the car drive off?" he asked them.

 

"The semi was in the way."

 

Rachel was about to say more, but Raylan's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. Art was on the other line. He asked her to hold that thought as he answered their boss's call.

 

"Tim said you were being followed."

 

"Yeah, a Chrysler Sebring. No plates. It's a new ride," Raylan said.

 

"What else can you give me?"

 

He told him that the driver paid with a credit card. Art promised to get on it.

 

"Tim is flying in—"

 

"We're doing fine, Art."

 

"Pick him up in Amarillo," Art continued as if Raylan hadn't said anything. "I'm texting gate, time, and flight no. Don't make him wait."

 

"Fine."

 

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked after he put his phone away.

 

"Tim's coming in."

 

"Oh."

 

Raylan frowned. _Oh?_ What the hell did that mean? He came close to asking, but she slipped around to the passenger side. "Fine," he muttered under his breath. He then moved to the driver's side.

 

"I'd rather keep driving," Darla said.

 

Raylan considered it. She wore no sunglasses so he was able to read her eyes. Dark brown and crystal clear. Bits of apprehension still lingered, but she didn't appear unsteady.

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I can do it. This way you and Rachel can keep your hands free. Just in case."

 

"Just in case," he repeated softly. "Okay. But if you change your mind, just say the word."

 

He slid into the backseat and buckled in.

 

"What are we doing?" she asked as she guided the Explorer to the street.

 

"Get back on the Interstate," he said. "Set the cruise on 70."

 

Back on the road again, he could feel it. They were all on edge, but they were attentive, too.

 

"We'll get you back to Lexington. Safe and sound," Raylan said, tapping Darla's shoulder. "You have my word."

 

Darla nodded. Rachel looked across at her. "Say it."

 

Only measured breathing came from Darla.

 

"If you say it, you'll start to believe it," Rachel advised, gently. "Go ahead."

 

"You'll get me back. Safe and sound."

 

Watching the exchange from the back, Raylan was impressed. Rachel rarely lowered her guard. He wouldn't dare admit it to her, but her tough girl persona sometimes gave him a Marshal stiffy as Art would say. Yet this version of Rachel, the caring compassionate one, rendered him both speechless and mesmerized. _Who was the real Rachel Brooks?_ He silently thanked Art for this opportunity to find out while cursing him for adding Gutterson to the mix.

 

_Damn it all to hell._

 

"Follow the signs to Amarillo."

 

He leaned against the backseat, eyes on the road in search for the Chrysler and thoughts on his co-workers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks again for reading, leaving kudos & commenting! This story doesn't want to leave me alone! The action is heating up and Tim has been added to the mix. Will Raylon behave? Is the green-eyed monster on his back honest or just messing with him? One thing's for sure, the dynamic will change when Tim arrives.]


	6. Persistent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Gutterson arrives. The dynamic takes a dramatic change.

Chapter 6: Persistent

 

Tim had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a pair of aviators protecting his eyes from the late day sun. A black Explorer rolled to a stop in front of him. The driver surprised him. Neither Raylan nor Rachel was behind the wheel. Instead, the witness, one Miss Darla Jenkins, laid claim to that position, and Tim realized that the case file photos didn't do her justice.

 

Rachel stepped from the passenger seat and smiled at him. "Welcome aboard."

 

He returned the gesture. The rear hatch opened. He tossed his stuff inside. When he came back for seating arrangements, he found Rachel behind the controls and Raylan riding shotgun. He slid into the back with the witness.

 

"Tim Gutterson," he said, extending his hand.

 

"Darla Jenkins," she said, accepting his offer. "But you knew that already."

 

"Something like that," he said with a half smile.

 

"So Art thinks we need a sharpshooter on this call," Raylan said.

 

"He thinks it wouldn't hurt," Tim said. He hadn't expected to be welcomed with open arms, so the crack didn't hurt his feelings. "What's happened since we last spoke?"

 

"Not much," Rachel said.

 

"Anymore sightings of the Chrysler?" he asked.

 

"We lost them," Raylan said.

 

"Or he switched cars," Tim countered.

 

"No one else has followed us," Darla said. When Tim looked at her, she added, "Sorry. Didn't mean to butt in."

 

"No, I—"

 

"She's got a good eye," Raylan cut in. "Damn fine driver, too."

 

Tim noticed the woman smile. _The Givens charm at work_ , he thought.

 

"Art called about the credit card," Rachel added. "It was one of those prepaid cards. They're hell to trace, but he's calling in favors to find out what he can."

 

"That's something," he said.

 

A low hum filled the cabin. They all checked their phones, except Darla because she didn't have one. Tim's had nothing so he put it back in his pocket. He heard an unladylike grunt come from Rachel as she glanced at her phone, pushed a button, and shoved it back inside her jacket pocket.

 

Tim knew his coworker well enough not to question that move, so he shifted on the seat to look behind them. The interstate was filling up with rush hour traffic. So far, he hadn't spotted a Sebring, but that didn't mean the SOB wasn't still out there.

 

From behind the dark round lenses, he felt her gaze on him. He'd done his share of witness transports, so he'd seen all kinds. The chatterboxes annoyed him the most. The femme fatales were next. Okay, maybe they were tied with the blubbering messes. This one, with her dark sunglasses, full kissable lips and keen observation skills had him intrigued and three sentences hadn't passed between them. Art would have his ass if he acted on his impulse and of the three Marshals on detail, Gutterson was proud to say that he was in the top two to not have that affliction.

 

No, he thought. Pretty and capable were a good start, but he was there to keep her safe. He'd keep that in mind if necessary.

 

R&R

 

Raylan knew that he'd come close to crossing over into asshole territory with Gutterson, but he didn't care. What he cared about was the tension in Rachel's shoulders and the taut line of her jaw. She'd been extremely focused since the song spooked Darla. Not that she wasn't focused now, sitting so prim, proper, and delectably untouchable at the wheel, but something was fucking with her.

 

Then her phone vibrated and the vibe coming from her escalated.

 

"Is that Nobody again?" he asked.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Rather persistent."

 

"He likes the pursuit."

 

"You okay?"

 

Rachel smiled at him. "I'm fine, Raylan."

 

That smile, false at reassurances at it was, could do him in. It was how her cheeks curved and her full lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth. Yeah, she was fine indeed.

 

"We have options," she was saying.

 

"Options?" he repeated, pushing his hat from his head.

 

She did that half-smile thing again and commented that he hadn't heard any of the conversation with Tim. He noted the lack of accusation in her tone. The undercurrent of tease was hard to ignore, though.

 

"What did I miss?"

 

"Several cars have been on us since Amarillo," Tim said. "Rush hour makes it hard to tell if we're being paranoid. Rachel was saying that we have options."

 

"Which are?" Raylan asked.

 

"Taking a detour," she said. "We're on a straight route. If we have a tail, it's easy to find us on this interstate."

 

"Take the two eighty-seven south up ahead. We can head down to Wichita Falls."

 

"That's off course a ways," Tim replied.

 

"Sure is," Raylan replied.

 

A few hours later, they reached the Texas town. They stopped for gas and a restroom break. When everyone climbed back into the SUV, Tim took over as driver and Raylan rode in the back with Darla. He'd been considering methods of keeping her safe. One thought kept coming to mind, but he'd need the other Marshals to agree. Hell, he wasn't sure if it would work. One thing he was sure was that even with the detour he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone.

 

"You're awfully quiet, Cowboy." Darla watched him closely. "Where to next?"

 

"It's getting late," Rachel said. "We should stop soon."

 

"Are you tired?" Tim asked.

 

"I am," Darla answered.

 

"We'll hole up somewhere tonight," Raylan said.

 

"Hole up," Darla repeated with a smirk.

 

"You don't like it?" he asked.

 

She laughed. "You really are a cowboy."

 

"Not quite," he said.

 

She'd been wound up and pensive for hours. Making her laugh at his expense hadn't cost him a thing and it kept his mind off the glances Tim kept tossing Rachel's way. Hell, he should have called shotgun, but he'd ridden down in the passenger seat and not trading off would have been a dick move. Besides, if he were smart, he'd accept that from his view in the back, he could scope out the Tim/Rachel angle better. He had never considered that the reason for her marriage going to hell could be none other than Tim Gutterson. His gut told him no, but the little green-eyed- monster riding his back warned that he could be wrong about that.

 

R&R

 

The GPS led them to a suite hotel suitable to their needs due south of the 287. They opted for a suite with two queen-sized beds and a sofa. It also had a kitchenette. Tim and Raylan left to case the building and to pick up take-out. Meanwhile, Rachel secured Darla in the room.

 

As the night before, Darla donned shorts and t-shirt and began her workout routine. Rachel checked her weapons and tried not to intrude. She stood at the window. Twilight offered an interesting view of the horizon. Streetlights were flickering on and the parking lot lighting filled in where the sunlight had faded. Wichita Falls was a new location to pin on her map. The little poster was filling up.

 

A short while later, Darla finished the workout and showered. When she returned, she opened a packet of decaf coffee and started a pot. While the coffee brewed, she seemed headed for the table where Rachel sat. Since the proximity was too close to the window for Rachel's peace of mind, she shook her head and pointed away. Darla nodded and smiled. She sat cross-legged on the bed nearest the window and ran a hand through her short curls.

 

"Does it always get this complicated?" Darla asked.

 

Rachel frowned. "This isn't complicated."

 

"No?" The other woman didn't sound convinced.

 

"No," Rachel assured her. "Everything we're doing now is a precaution. You're safe. We will keep you that way."

 

The aroma of coffee filled the room. Both inhaled. Darla rose and poured a cup. She offered to do the same for Rachel, but she declined. Tonight could be a long one. Decaf wouldn't help with that.

 

"What's going on with the guy blowing up your phone?" Darla wrapped her hands around the cup as she looked at Rachel expectedly. "Look, I'm nosy and I'm trying hard not to be scared-"

 

Rachel raised a hand to stop her. Hell, she was a little surprised that Darla had figured it out.

 

 "It's my husband."

 

"Really?" Darla sipped coffee. "I didn't see that coming."

 

"Why because I'm a Marshal?"

 

"No, not because of the Marshal thing," she said. "Hubby's worried because you're guarding me?"

 

Rachel snorted. "Not exactly."

 

"Just the possessive sort?" Darla shrugged. "I get that. You're on the road with one hottie and then another shows up—"

 

"Wait, we're coworkers—"

 

"I'm not suggesting otherwise." Darla placed the mug on the nightstand and slid back against the headboard. "We humans are strange beings. I keep thinking about the decisions that led me here…to this room…to the scars on my back…to having to sit on a witness stand and pray that everything turns out right in the end."

 

Rachel didn't offer the usual assurances of protection post-trial. She got the feeling that Darla didn't need that. The other woman needed something else. Maybe she simply needed to talk.

 

"I can only imagine what this case reads like on paper. You get assigned to get me back to Lexington and so you read the particulars, but there's more, you know."

 

"I know," Rachel said. "We don't always go in with prejudgments coloring our protection."

 

Darla stared at the wall and her voice was just above a whisper. "Nik's interest scared me a little at first. I didn't know how to take it."

 

 "How do you mean?" This interested Rachel. None of this appeared in the folder.

 

"He'd pick a table right in the center and listen to me sing. Every night. No matter where I was playing."

 

"Was this on Beale Street?"

 

"Yeah, it started in Memphis and he followed me to Nashville."

 

"Did he approach you?" Rachel glanced from the window to see Darla's reaction.

 

"Not at first. He'd just listen. Clap. Leave enormous tips and leave. Then he started sending gifts. Finally he waited for me after the show."

 

"Did you know who he was?"

 

Darla shook her head. "Not then. Just thought he was some crazy white boy with loot and a thing for sistas. Of course, I was feeling the bad boy vibe in spades. I should have run, but it was too late."

 

"You're a sucker for bad boys." Rachel swallowed the bitter taste of hypocrisy that rose in her throat at voicing the question. She'd acquired a taste for bad boys of late. She certainly couldn't begrudge Darla for the same, but in all fairness to Raylan, he wasn't a gangster. Just that his methods for keeping the law had their own rhythm.

 

"No," Darla said. "Hell no. I was a sucker for a man who loved me. I guess you met hubby at Ole Miss and it was love at first."

 

"You're half right," Rachel said. "We met at Ole Miss. He played football and I was his tutor. Love didn't happen at first sight, I assure you. He had to learn how to pursue. He was used to girls chasing him."

 

"You made him work for it?"

 

Rachel grinned. "I made him work."

 

Her phone chose then to vibrate.

 

"Persistent," Darla said.

 

Rachel felt her chest tighten, but she managed a faint smile. She pulled the phone out and read the ID. It was her mom on the other end.

 

"Hi. I'm still on the road. Is everything okay? How's the little man?"

 

"We're fine. I'm sorry…"

 

"Mama, what are you talking about?"

 

"Joe! He was going on about how he was worried about you. I probably shouldn't have, but he was so persistent. I just…"

 

"You just what?"

 

"I told him you were going to LA," her mother said. "I'm sorry if he's been bothering you. Now, that I've thought about it, I know I shouldn't have. He didn't sound right."

 

R&R

 

Raylan lingered outside longer than needed. The hotel was as safe as it could be. He just needed a few extra minutes alone to figure out how to keep his head together with Tim and Rachel in the same room all night. On the professional side, if shit went down, the three of them could handle it. Regarding personal issues—he didn't want to go there anymore. He headed back to their suite, eager to decide who'd get which bed, first watch and whether Gutterson had returned with the grub.

 

The shell-shocked look on Rachel's face surprised him. She tried to go blank when he came fully into the room, but she wasn't fast enough. He closed and locked the door upon his entry. Ever observant, he noticed Darla dressed in a Lakers jersey and boxer shorts, sitting on the edge of the bed. The aroma of coffee and floral bath gel hung in the air.

 

"Hey," Darla said, breaking the quiet. "No food, huh?"

 

He lifted his empty hands. "'Fraid not. Tim's taking care of it."

 

She nodded. She glanced at Rachel who was busy gathering her bag and heading toward the bath. Once she was slammed shut inside, Raylan turned to the witness.

 

"What's up?" he asked, jutting a chin toward the closed door.

 

"I don't know if I should say," she hedged.

 

"Nobody called again." He shrugged out of his jacket and tugged his shirttails from his jeans. "Did she answer?"

 

"No, it was her Mama this time."

 

Raylan cocked an eyebrow at that statement. So Darla had a clue to the Nobody reference? What did the two women converse about in his absence? The giggling and smirking from the first leg of the trip let him know that Miss Jenkins was no fool. She was hip to him. What else did she have knowledge of?

 

"Is everything okay at home?" When she looked ready to protest, Raylan sighed. "Look, I'm trying to help."

 

"I know," she said. Seconds passed before she added more. Then she joined him, careful of not standing in front of the glass. She mostly stood to his side but near enough to whisper. "Something happened with her mom, but I don't know what. I can't help you there."

 

"Is she sick?"

 

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

 

"Any mention of the nephew?" Raylan knew Rachel would have his ass if she got wind of this interrogation, but that look on her face was not the Rachel Brooks he knew. He needed background before he approached her.

 

Darla said, "No, nothing like that."

 

The bathroom door creaked. Darla's eyes widened. Raylan briefly touched her arm. "You're safe."

 

She smiled. "Thanks."

 

Rachel emerged just as Darla returned to her position on the bed, looking as if she hadn't moved. Raylan watched his fellow Marshal store her bag in the closet space near the door. Her face looked fresh, clean and free of make-up. She had pulled it back into another ponytail, which only served to accentuate her flawless complexion. She'd changed from her crisp professional uniform of slacks, blouse, and jacket and now wore a t-shirt and jeans. He missed the cute little shorts from the night before, but the jeans weren't bad either.

 

"Where the hell did Tim go?" she asked.

 

"He sent me a text. Our order was next. He should be back in about five or ten minutes."

 

She shrugged at Darla. "Sorry."

 

"I'll lay here and quietly starve," the other woman said. "No problem."

 

Rachel laughed, but Raylan could hear the force behind it.

 

"So, there are the bed and sofa arrangements to work out," Rachel said, claiming a chair at the table near Raylan.

 

"We're not waiting for Tim?" he asked. He tried to hold in his laughter, but failed miserably.

 

"Nope. I'm hungry and he's not back with the food."

 

"Y'all are cold," Darla said from the bed, her voice muffled by a pillow, as she giggled.

 

"We're hungry," Raylan countered. He closed the curtains and sat beside Rachel. "I like the way you think. We could flip for it."

 

"For the bed?" she asked.

 

Nodding, he pulled a quarter from his pocket and placed it on the table.

 

She grabbed it and tossed it the air. She caught the quarter and slapped it onto the back of her hand. "Call it."

 

"Heads."

 

She peeked, but wouldn't let him see. A cute grin parted her lips and lit up her brown eyes. Raylan couldn't stop his heart from racing. He reached for her hand.

 

"Let me see."

 

"Don't you trust me?"

 

"Not when it comes to that bed," he said. He pried her hands apart, but he didn't have to exert too much effort. She was a willing participant in their game.

 

"Tails," he muttered.

 

Both women laughed.

 

"Sofa, it is." He went over took off his boots and sat. To his surprise, Rachel joined him.

 

"This may not be anything," she said quietly and suddenly serious.

 

"I'm listening."

 

"My mom called."

 

He nodded. That she was coming to him willingly stunned him. He sensed saying too much would make her go silent.

 

"Darla told you this, didn't she?" Rachel questioned, eyes narrowed.

 

"Um…" he stammered.

 

"I told him that much," Darla said, sitting up to admit her part. "I didn't know more than that."

 

"You _are_ nosy," Rachel said.

 

"I never denied it," Darla said. She burrowed back under the covers and covered her head.

 

"She was just trying to help," Raylan offered. "Are you okay? What's going on with your mom?"

 

"She called about Joe."

 

Various shades of red danced before Raylan's eyes. He itched to grab his sidearm, but willed himself to remain still and focused on Rachel. "Don't tell me he made a move on your mama."

 

"He didn't. He worried her until she told him about this detail. She never knows the full route, but she knew I was flying out to LA and it would take me a few days to get back to Lexington." Rachel drew her knees to her chest and hugged tight, hiding her face in the denim. "I never should have told her, but I hate for her to worry."

 

Without pause to consider repercussions or the dangers of crossing invisible lines, Raylan puts his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. When she didn't flinch or move away, he started rubbing her back and massaging the base of her neck. Her flesh was hard knots of tension that begged for his attention. She needed this as much as he needed to do it.

 

"It's not the end of the world. Did she tell him who we're guarding?"

 

"No, I never tell her that only where I'll be." She raised her head to look at him. "That's classified, Raylan…"

 

"Okay, okay," he said, continuing to rub and marvel that she hadn't stopped him from doing so. "What else?"

 

"He's changed. I hadn't seen it or wanted to, but Mama hit it," she said with the hint of a soft moan trailing at the end when his fingers dug into a certain spot. "Calling me all the time and now badgering my mom… He's _different_."

 

The faint moan had nearly thrown Raylan off course. He pulled himself back in to hear what she hadn't said. That her soon-to-be ex could be as much of a threat as the mobster family that was after Darla.

 

Instead of one beautiful woman who required protection, there were now two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading, following, and reviewing and leaving kudos! I appreciate it especially considering the major flub in the earlier chapters. It took THREE viewings of "Long in the Tooth" for me to catch it. ARGH!!! My only excuse is that when I got hooked on Justified, I watched the entire 4 seasons in less than 3 weeks. Specific details got jammed together in my head. Now that I'm rewatching the series and yes, I saw that episode twice in less than a week, it was the third time I watched it that I caught the location. So THANKS to those of you who have been kind enough to keep reading despite that major flub. You are wonderful. 
> 
> Storywise: The Marshal's hands are now very full with both women as potential targets. But never fear! Raylan has a plan…if the other Marshals will go for it.]


	7. Timing and Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel is not immune to Raylan's touch. Raylan and Rachel are not oblivious to Tim's intentions.

Chapter 7: Timing and Coincidence

 

Rachel knew that Raylan was a sure shot, not to mention a quick draw. His skill was common knowledge. For him to have that ability, of course he had to be good with his hands. But until he put his hands on her and used them to work through every mother loving kink and knot in her neck and shoulders, she had no clue to the depth of his skill.

 

 _Lawd, have mercy_.

 

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out. She could get used to having his hands on her.

 

Focusing less on his strong masterful strokes and more on his probing questions were a must, but the task was daunting. Simply put, her body's response was making it difficult. From the tightening in her breasts to the tingling between her thighs, Rachel was hard pressed at forcing herself to succumb to a necessary interrogation.

 

"Rachel?"

 

"Hmm…"

 

Hyper-awareness had her especially attuned that his hands had paused. His fingertips rested dangerously close to her bra clasp. Thank God a t-shirt separated the two. She drew in a deep breath and listened. His breathing was just as shaky as hers. His voice was low and in a tone, she'd never heard before. It made no sense for her to look over her shoulder at him, but she couldn't stop it.

 

Piercing brown eyes stared back. Lust was evident. He moistened his bottom lip with a slow swipe of his tongue. Rachel found herself ignoring all warnings and leaning in. Raylan's movements mirrored hers. Anticipation made her blood pound. She barely registered the sound at the door, but Darla's unnaturally loud exclamation "Food!" was enough to send Raylan to the window and Rachel to the other side of the room. If Tim noticed anything amiss, he gave nothing away as he set the cardboard box on the table.

 

As the Styrofoam plates, soda pop cans, and water bottles were divided, Rachel and Darla's eyes locked. The slight shrug was enough to let Rachel know that Darla's excitement about the food was more theatrics than actual hunger.

 

"Thanks," Rachel said with meaning.

 

"No worries," Darla replied.

 

"What about me?" Tim said, handing Darla a Coke. "These are authentic tamales. I heard about this place on _Man vs. Food_. This is the real deal."

 

Darla thanked him and took her meal and beverage back to the bed where she sat cross legged and began to eat. Rachel expressed gratitude as well, but she was a little surprised when Tim followed the witness and joined her on the bed.

 

 _Well, well, well_ , she thought. She glanced at Raylan to see if he noticed, but he seemed preoccupied. He had chosen a spot at the table. She started to head toward the sofa, but he pulled out the chair next to him. A thousand reasons not to accept his offer popped through her mind. She ignored every one.

 

The first few minutes were filled with the sounds of chewing, slurping, and murmuring of satisfaction. Rachel's hunger for food had taken a backseat as soon as the call with her mother ended. It had continued to elude her when Raylan's massage had short circuited her senses. Initially, she'd gone through the motions of eating as a diversionary tactic. Maintaining cool professionalism while ignoring Raylan's sidelong glances required more from her than she had stored up. Then there was the idea that her soon-to-be ex could be stalking her. Both were a lot to take in. Thank goodness Tim's television viewing practices had merit. The delicious food worked and after a few bites, her hunger returned. By the time conversation was thrown into the mix, she was able to participate.

 

"Well?" Tim asked.

 

"The tamales are good, but I've never been a fan of chalupa," Darla said.

 

"Oh," he said, his expression thoughtful. "You don't want it?"

 

"No, but we'll have to trade." She peered over his arm. "What's happening with that enchilada?"

 

"I haven’t touched it…" Tim extended his plate toward hers. "We can trade."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Your stomach is still growling," he said. "Yeah, go for it."

 

The interchange was interesting. Was this Tim flirting or just being nice? Rachel couldn't be sure. She felt Raylan watching her and she met his stare. He wore an obvious smirk. He looked ready to say something inappropriate. Since Darla had saved them, she wasn't about to let him throw her under the bus.

 

"Tim," she said, "we have a new development."

 

"Yeah?" He was busy keeping his plate steady while Darla transferred the enchilada to hers. "Art called about the credit card?"

 

"No," she said. In this moment, she realized how much she resented Joe for this. For bringing her personal life into work. This was bullshit and soon as she saw him, he'd never forget it.

 

"What's up?" he asked.

 

"It's possible that Joe is tailing us."

 

A scowl darkened his brow. He set his plate down. The easy going demeanor that had affected him since he'd joined Darla on the bed faded. He became tense and ready for action.

 

"That sonuvabitch. How do you know? Was that him calling?"

 

She nodded, suddenly very aware of an equally very tense Raylan. He had moved from the table and stood with his back to them. "Yeah, he's called—"

 

"But he won't sign the papers—" Upon Rachel's look, he quickly added. "Sorry, Rach. Are you sure it was him in the Sebring?"

 

"We're not sure of anything," she said, "but it's possible that Joe is following us. My mom told him I was coming to LA. I haven't heard from him until now and his calls have been pretty steady since we've been on the road."

 

She wondered if Raylan would chime in, but so far he kept his back turned. His stance was rigid. His silence was damning. She continued as if his quiet didn't matter. "I never anticipated this happening. In the morning, I'm flying back and—"

 

"The hell you are." Raylan turned to face them. "You're not going anywhere."

 

"Look, Raylan—"

 

"I'm with him on this," Tim said, rising from the bed, his dinner forgotten.

 

"My presence is potentially jeopardizing Darla's safety."

 

"We don't know that," Raylan said. "We don't know for a fact that your ex is stalking you. We have circumstantial evidence at best—"

 

"Seriously?"

 

"I'm not defending him," he snapped, "but let's say you do go back and he is coming after you. Are you safer on your own or with us here?"

 

"I'd rather you didn't go back," Darla said. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Her features were drawn tight. "I know I don't have a say, and you all are the professionals, but I know about crazy. You can't reason with it. Besides, I'd feel like shit if something happened to you because you left on account of me."

 

"Don't make Darla feel like shit," Raylan added.

 

"Art would not go for this," she said, feeling her resolve weakening.

 

"Who's telling Art anything?" Tim asked. "I'm not calling Art. Are you?"

 

Raylan shook his head. "We don't have proof—"

 

"If we get proof," she cut in, "we re-evaluate."

 

Tim sighed. Raylan looked ready to curse.

 

Rachel said, "Either agree or I leave tomorrow."

 

Both men nodded, grudgingly. "Agreed."

 

"If it makes you feel better," Raylan said, clearly still pissed, "we can split up. See what happens."

 

"That's an idea," Tim said, not exactly committing to it.

 

"I'll have to sleep on it," Rachel said.

 

Just then, Tim yawned. "Sleep sounds like a good place to start. So, who has a quarter…"

 

"We already flipped for it," Raylan said. "I have the sofa. Rachel has the other bed."

 

"Great," Tim muttered. He grabbed the phone and called down for a rollaway.

 

R&R

 

Morning took its time, Raylan thought, as the first rays of light peeked through the slits in the curtain. He had failed to find a comfortable prone position so he spent most of the night sitting upright. It hadn't mattered. His mind had been preoccupied with the knowledge that Tim had been fully aware of Rachel's marital status while he had known absolutely nothing. To top it off, he'd done a piss poor job of hiding his irritation and annoyance of that knowledge.

 

There was also the matter of Rachel wanting to make herself a target for the ex. Was she insane? Hell would freeze over before he'd allow her to run off alone. The man already failed to take no for an answer when it came to phone calls. What would he do if he had her alone? Raylan did not for one second doubt Rachel's ability to defend herself, but crazy was crazy. In his experience crazy assholes were creative and unpredictable.

 

He started a pot of coffee. By the time he had showered and dressed, the coffee had brewed and everyone was awake and stirring about. He didn't miss the look passing between Tim and Darla as the former Army Ranger headed to the bathroom. When Raylan paused to silently confirm or deny the situation with her, she merely shrugged and sorted through her luggage. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rachel grimace as she checked her cell phone.

 

"Nobody?"

 

She nodded.

 

"Calls or texts?"

 

"Both," she said, sliding the phone into her jeans front pocket. "Five missed calls and ten texts."

 

"He's escalating."

 

She glanced at her watch. "I can get a flight within an hour or two."

 

He gave her a tight smile. "We've already had this discussion."

 

"I'm with Raylan on that," Darla piped in.

 

Less than an hour later, they were all dressed and ready to go. The Marshals had dosed themselves with cups of caffeine. Darla declined. She only liked the decaf version of coffee. The regular kind didn't set well with her. Raylan was sure Tim had committed that tidbit to memory.

 

They opted against breakfast at the hotel. An early start provided better choices. However four slashed tires made that difficult. The hotel manager arrived with apologies out of his ass. While he called for AAA, Tim took photos of the area. Darla stayed close to him and Raylan followed Rachel as she began to pace.

 

"Still don't think my leaving is good idea?"

 

"Nope. You're staying."

 

"I know this is Joe."

 

"He has a habit of slashing tires," Raylan said. "You should have said something before."

 

"No, he's never slashed my tires."

 

"Then you don't know it's him. It could be a prank."

 

"You don't believe that anymore than I do."

 

Raylan considered conning her, but since it wouldn't work, he thought better of it. "No, I don't."

 

"I can't put Darla in danger," she said quietly. "She saved our asses last night."

 

"She did," he spoke just as softly, "but your leaving is no guarantee about Joe's actions if that's him out there acting up. Hell, I'm betting your push to leave isn't about Joe at all—"

 

"Of course, it is."

 

"Of course, it ain't," Raylan said. "You're scared of what's happening."

 

"I'm scared of what Joe might do. Jeopardizing a witness—"

 

"Fuck that," he said, becoming annoyed. "What's happening between you and me. You're scared shitless about that. Admit it."

 

"You've got to be kidding."

 

"No, I'm serious as shit."

 

He would have said more, but Tim called them over. The other Marshal was excited about a find.

 

"Two sets of tire tracks. Right here," he said, pointing to the tread marks on either side of the Explorer. "I sent the images to Art."

 

"Does he have new orders for us?" Rachel asked.

 

"Hang tight," Tim said.

 

"Did you tell him about Joe?" Raylan asked.

 

Tim glared at him. "No." His phone rang before he added to that. "Hey, Art. Okay fine. I got it. Thanks."

 

He told him that the tire tracks belonged to two vehicles, a Sebring and a Lincoln Navigator. They re-evaluated the plan to split up and decided against it. Triple A arrived to pick up the Explorer and they secured another rental.

 

Tim claimed the driver seat of the brass-colored Chevy Tahoe while Raylan sat shotgun. The women were quiet in the back. The radio provided white noise as they headed back onto the highway. Meanwhile, Raylan's thoughts scattered. Two different vehicles could mean two different agendas. He had no way of knowing if Joe was in either one or if the Cassalotti clan was responsible for both. Until someone made a definite move, they were still in the dark.

 

But he wasn't in the dark about Rachel. Touching her had been dangerous and almost kissing her—hell, reckless was too tame to define it. Then he called her out. His gut had told him she wouldn't respond well to that, but he'd done it anyway. With the words out there, he had to admit to himself even if she wouldn't, he had no regrets.

 

Well, he had one regret.

 

Tim and his fucked up timing. Shit.

 

R&R

 

By mutual agreement, Tim drove south down through Dallas before looping onto Interstate 30 to head north toward Little Rock. The ride was somewhat circuitous but if someone were tailing them, it'd be obvious. In the end, they'd snuff the SOB out. Morning rush hour traffic slowed them down a few times, but they reached the Arkansas town in good time with Tim behind the wheel the entire time. In eight more hours, they'd reach Lexington and that was the plan.

 

The gas gauge wavered closer to "E" than Tim liked so he stopped at a Mobil. Rachel and Darla remained inside while he and Raylan kept watch from the pump.

 

"There have been five Navigators on us off and on for the last three hours," Raylan said, "and two Sebrings."

 

"Neither of them took the exit," Tim said.

 

"Doesn't mean they're not doubling back."

 

"No," Tim agreed.

 

"The dark won't help us," Raylan said, "but it won't help them either."

 

The back door on the driver's side opened. Rachel stepped out. "There's a grocery store across the street. Let's just grab something there and keep it moving."

 

"Is Darla okay with that?" Tim asked. When both Rachel and Raylan stared at him, he asked, "What?"

 

Raylan laughed. "Nothing."

 

Rachel smiled. "She suggested it."

 

"Oh," he said, nodding. "Good idea."

 

"Uh huh," Raylan said with a smirk.

 

"Again, what?"

 

Raylan shook his head and slid into the driver's seat. Tim finished up and climbed into the backseat with Darla. Rachel had already taken residence in the passenger seat.

 

Kroger's afternoon crowd was usual for most Krogers. Once inside, Raylan and Rachel headed in one direction and Tim and Darla went in the other. His role as chauffeur had prevented Tim from getting to know their witness better. Normally, he preferred the silence, but not this time. She was interesting. But since they left Wichita Falls, she hadn't spoken much. He wondered if she was scared, tired of the trip, or maybe a little of both.

 

"They're getting the drinks, right?" she asked, swinging the basket between them. "I wasn't paying attention."

 

"Yeah. We're grabbing bread, deli slices, and condiments."

 

She laughed. "That sounds so rigid."

 

"Does it?" He took the basket from her. Sure, his fingers brushed against hers, but if she didn't mind, neither did he. He checked her face for a reaction. Her brown eyes lit up and he didn't take that as bad sign. "What should I have said?"

 

"I don't know. Something like…we're getting ham and mayo and mustard. Maybe some cookies or something."

 

"Cookies?" He frowned playfully. "I'm more into brownies."

 

"The fudge kind?"

 

"Definitely. I love chocolate."

 

Her eyebrows arched. "Oh really?"

 

The double entendre hit him immediately. He groaned. "I didn't mean… I…um… Look, I apolo—"

 

"Stop," she said with a faint giggle. "It's not like you said you're down with the swirl. Most people like chocolate."

 

"Raylan doesn't."

 

She laughed outright. "I beg to differ."

 

"Huh?"

 

She shook her head. "Never mind. Let's see if the bakery has brownies."

 

Tim knew he was enjoying this far more than he was supposed to. Art sent him as back up. Not to hit on the witness. Not to make her blush or vice versa. Definitely not to get his head off track. As they worked through their list—bread, lunch meat, chips, brownies, and condiments—and headed to check out, he pulled the conversation back to the space where it was safe and held no possibility of innuendo.

 

A companionable silence settled between them. He noticed her moving her lips and her head swaying to a beat. Til then, he hadn't noticed the loudspeaker or the music playing. The background report said that she'd been a singer. He leaned in to get a listen, but she wasn't offering a freebie. She smiled when she realized what he was doing.

 

"Michael McDonald and Patti LaBelle are doing it," she said. "I don't mean literally. The song. My mom loved this song. Do you know they recorded this in two different studios on separate coasts?"

 

"What is this? I don't recognize it."

 

"'On My Own,'" she said. "It's about a breakup. Neither person saw it coming and they're heartbroken. I saw Patti LaBelle at the Orpheum."

 

"In Memphis?"

 

She nodded. "She's amazing. High heels like this," she said, indicating with her thumb and forefinger, "and moving like she's a kid. I don't move in high heels like that. And the notes. Oh my God, nobody does it like Patti."

 

"I'd like to hear you sing."

 

His statement stunned her into silence. She seemed embarrassed and surprised. "I don't sound like Patti."

 

He shrugged. He knew she could sing. A recording contract had been offered to her, but after she'd become involved with Nik Cassalotti, she'd turned it down. He wondered about a man who'd demand that of a woman he claimed to love.

 

"I don't care," he said. "I want to hear you—" Mid-sentence, the expression on her face changed. Her eyes widened and she stepped in close to him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her. "What?"

 

"Listen," she whispered, clutching him.

 

_'Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_She always gone too long anytime she goes away…'_

 

"The Bill Withers' song."

 

Moments later, Raylan and Rachel rushed toward them. Tim and Rachel ushered Darla out the store and to the SUV while Raylan stayed to pay and question the cashier about the radio station. Tim hated how a perceived threat had transformed the confident woman into a shaking mass. Safe in the back of the Chevy Tahoe, she clung to his hand. He didn't care that it was against regulations. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The quivering started to lessen, but not completely. Rachel stood outside the car and waited.

 

Raylan returned with their bags and with information. "It's a local oldies station. I called Art. He's checking."

 

"He's wasting his time," Darla said quietly. "It's not a coincidence."

 

"We don't know that," Rachel said. "Let's wait until we find out."

 

"Wait?" Darla pulled herself free of Tim's embrace. Shaking her head, she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. "Once is a coincidence. Twice? No. That bastard is still pulling strings from the grave."

 

She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, tears streaming from the closed lids. Tim debated with himself for a half second before he surrendered to his desire to hold her. He knew that Raylan and Rachel were throwing each other looks, but he didn't care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks as always for reading, leaving kudos, and reviewing! Comments are appreciated so don't be shy! Things are heating up between the couples, but in different ways. I'd say both men have their hands full and are definitely playing with fire. Is it time for Raylan to make a serious move? He's laid it out there. Is it too soon for him to follow through with some action? More than a massage? Let me know what you think. Until next time…]


	8. What Happens Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan makes a move.

Chapter 8: What Happens Next

 

Raylan's words of warning about a transport going south replayed in Rachel's mind. Hell, those weren't the only words she heard. She had lost count the number of times he'd surprised her over the last few days, but nothing surprised her more than him calling her out. Quick and to the point.

 

_"What's happening between you and me. You're scared shitless about that. Admit it."_

 

Although softly spoken, fire had burned in his voice and flared in his eyes. She'd seen him intense before. Manhunts brought that out in him, but intense wasn't the best word to describe him. They had been dancing around their physical attraction for quite awhile, far longer than the game of eyesex in the office. Physical heat was indeed a factor between them, but his words hinted at something deeper. Rachel wasn't sure what to make of it. From her view, Raylan didn't have the best track record and quite honestly, hers wasn't anywhere near perfection either.

 

She released a long, deep sigh. From the driver seat, the object of her thoughts glanced over. She couldn't resist the urge to meet his eyes. Like the clouds that were looming in the Arkansas sky, darkness loomed in his brown orbs. What was he thinking about? Did she really want to know?

 

She rubbed the back of her neck and directed her gaze out the window. Crossing the Mississippi River had been their goal. Eight hours after that they would be home. But the storm clouds threatened their plans. The distant rumble of thunder caused her to straighten. She looked at the weather app on her phone.

 

"We're headed straight for it," she murmured.

 

"What was that?" Raylan asked.

 

"The clouds," she said. "According to this map, we're driving into a storm."

 

"There's a tornado watch," Tim said. "Flash flood warning for five counties. The works."

 

"Great," Darla said.

 

They passed a sign that read sixty miles to Memphis. Lightning streaked across the sky and a loud clap of thunder followed. Rachel could feel everyone's tension escalate. She spoke to Raylan, "We shouldn't chance it. We have to take the next exit."

 

He nodded.

 

Rain began to pour in sheets. Visibility became limited. The Tahoe's wipers fought the rain and created a rhythmic cadence as it rushed back and forth across the windshield. Without thinking, her hand closed around the door handle. She turned to look through the back windshield. If they were being followed, it would be hard to do so now.

 

"Let me know when you see an exit," Raylan said.

 

She shifted back and smiled when their gazes locked. "Will do."

 

Fifteen minutes later after their speed had dropped to almost forty miles per hour, Rachel spotted one. Raylan turned off and eased the Tahoe down the ramp. With the help of Rachel and the backseat passengers, they followed the signs to a motel.

 

"Text Art," Raylan said. "Let him know what's going on."

 

"Can't," Tim said. "No cell service."

 

"Oh, shit," Darla said.

 

"What?" Rachel and Raylan asked.

 

"A car followed us off the ramp," she said. "It turned its lights off, but I saw it turn in after us."

 

"Fuck," Raylan muttered.

 

By now, they had pulled into the motel's parking lot. Raylan found a space at the entrance.

 

"If we wait here, we're sitting ducks," Rachel said.

 

"Tim, grab the bag," Raylan said. "I'll cover Darla."

 

Rachel pulled her jacket off and used it to cover her head. Because she was closest, she reached the lobby first. She held the door for the others as they came rushing in. The manager must have heard the commotion because he came stumbling out from the office. He looked as if he'd been asleep. Spikes of dark hair stood on end and a scowl darkened his brow. He worked to adjust his clothing and smooth his hair.

 

"Didn't expect anybody would be fool enough to be out in this," he said.

 

"It wasn't our plan either," Raylan said. "Do you have any vacancies?"

 

The man's eyes narrowed at the group. He didn't seem pleased at the demographics. Darla looked at Rachel and rolled her eyes. Tim caught the interchange. His face reddened with indignation and anger. He stepped forward. Rachel reached for him, but Raylan stilled him with a sweep of his hand.

 

The senior Marshal flashed his star. "We need a room. Preferably one that doesn't require us to go back out in that downpour."

 

The hotel manager stared at the star and met each of their eyes, lingering on Raylan and Tim's faces longer. "How many?"

 

"One'll do," Raylan said. He pulled his ID and credit card from his wallet.

 

The transaction happened quickly. The manager, Lou, assigned them to a room on the second floor that overlooked the parking lot. From the window, Rachel could almost make out their rental. She had no idea where the other car was or if it had even parked at the motel, too. Behind her, everyone was starting to settle in. Tim and Raylan were going through the duffel bag of weaponry. Darla had peeled back the top layer of bedding on one of the beds and was sitting on the edge. Rachel considered offering words of reassurance, but she realized that she had none.

 

A man she used to love and imagined spending the rest of her life with could very well be hunting her down like an animal. Knowing that rendered her damn near speechless. Without cell phone service and with the weather playing a role, things could get ugly real quick. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of considering how she felt about Joe's actions. One thing for sure, if not for the rigid structure of the job, she'd probably be in the same state as Darla.

 

R&R

 

Tim participated in the conversation with Raylan like the highly trained law enforcement officer he was. They went through every firearm and made sure each was fully loaded and the clips were accessible. Once Raylan was satisfied, he joined Rachel at the window. Tim then finally allowed himself to notice Darla. She hadn't moved much since she sat on the bed. It didn't take a genius to know that the song had upset her. He wanted nothing more than to tell her that they'd get her back to Lexington safely, but he doubted those words would suffice. She wasn't stupid. Their predicament was precarious at best. Raylan told him that she didn't have hope in her survival after the trial. That didn't sit well with Tim at all.

 

"So, you're a sharp shooter?" She had moved and was sitting on the edge of the bed facing him. "With all of these?"

 

He wasn't one for modesty, so he simply nodded. "Yeah."

 

"I didn't know the Marshal Service was so…" she frowned as she searched for the word, "cutthroat."

 

He tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed. "I was a Ranger."

 

"Like Chuck Norris?"

 

He laughed outright. He sat on the other bed and faced her. "No, an Army Ranger."

 

"Oh." She covered her hand with her mouth. "I'm clueless about this stuff."

 

"You're doing okay." He smiled. His stomach did a flop when she returned the gesture. "Do you know how to use a firearm?" He pulled his sidearm from his holster. He would have extended it toward her, but her eyes grew large and she shrank back.

 

"All I can do is punch, jab, and kick." She frowned. "I went to the firing range in LA a few times, but I could never do it."

 

"Why?" Images of her ex terrorizing her with a .45 came to mind. He tried to maintain a bland interest in her answer, but if her ex wasn't already dead, Tim would have no trouble putting him out of his misery.

 

"Guns scare me," she said. "They always have. I can hang with an action flick with the best of them, but up close and personal like this…" She shuddered. "But…"

 

"What?"

 

"If my life depends on it, I'm willing to learn." She stood and came to stand right in front of him. "I can try."

 

Somehow, Tim managed to rise without pressing his body against hers even though that's exactly what he wanted. He pulled a revolver from his ankle holster. As soon as he started going over the basics, he found himself in training mode. She was a willing student. In the end, he hoped she wouldn't have to put any of the impromptu lesson to use.

 

"Here," he said. "It should fit in your waistband."

 

She shook her head. "I don't want it. Not until I need it."

 

"Okay." He returned the weapon to the holster. "Can I get you something?"

 

She jutted her head toward the window. Outside the storm raged. They could hear the rain beating erratically on the roof. She grinned at him. "In this?"

 

"I saw a Coke machine downstairs."

 

"I'm good."

 

She reclaimed her position on the edge of the bed. He sat opposite her, content to look at her, hoping he wasn't too obvious.

 

"You okay?"

 

"I'm trying to be," she answered. "Falling apart wouldn't help, would it?"

 

"No, but a little honesty never hurt."

 

Darla gave him a half smile. "You want honesty? Hmm…well, I'm scared out of my mind, but that won't stop what happens next. Now, will it?"

 

He shook his head. "I wish I could tell you different."

 

"I wish you could, too." A flash of uncertainty lit up her eyes. Then she blinked and reached for his hands. "Thank you for what you did back there."

 

"It was n—"

 

"Don't say 'nothing.'"

 

"I won't."

 

She smiled.

 

R&R

 

Raylan stood watch at the window. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. Definitely over an hour, maybe even two. Rachel and Darla had fallen asleep on the bed and Tim was meticulously inspecting and cleaning every weapon in the bag. Again. To be fair, Raylan wasn't sure which task Tim had assigned himself. He supposed the other Marshal was eager to do anything to keep his interest in their witness a secret. _Little did he know_ , Raylan thought to himself.

 

They had all removed their jackets to dry. Both Raylan and Tim were down to their undershirts. Raylan kept checking his shirt for dryness. He had a feeling that the next time they moved, it would be quickly.

 

Keeping watch felt like a lesson in futility. The rain impaired his vision. If someone had followed them in, they should have a helluva time finding them. Despite the cellphone tower failure, they had managed to reach Art on the landline. Even with their superior knowing their location, Raylan knew that the weather had tipped the odds. It was a toss as to whose favor.

 

"It's like looking at a wall."

 

He inhaled and bit back a smile. Rachel wore the sweetest fragrance. He'd noticed the first time they met. It was a combination of honeysuckles, flowers, and vanilla. But the scent wasn't overpowering. Underneath all that lay her unmistakable aroma that leveled it all out.

 

Raylan looked down into her face. The rain consumed her attention. The endless downpour reflected in her brown eyes. It was obvious she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Lines threatened around her eyes and mouth. Yet that wasn't enough to diminish the youthfulness of her face.

 

"There are too many walls," he said.

 

A frown creased her brow. He anticipated the move that would send her away from him. When she stayed beside him at the window, he couldn't have been more surprised.

 

"Raylan—"

 

"I meant what I said before," he said quietly. "There's something going on here."

 

She shrugged. "I don't…I don't know what you want me to say."

 

Okay, maybe he could be more surprised. He moved closer to her, a little to ensure their privacy, but mostly because he wanted to. "This isn't the right time."

 

"No, it isn't."

 

"But when we get back to Lexington—"

 

"I'm married," she said, finally looking up at him. "Joe is refusing to sign the papers."

 

"And he may be stalking you," he said. "Don’t forget that."

 

"I haven't been able to."

 

"I don't care about Joe."

 

She gave him that mysterious half smile that always punched him in the gut. "I know."

 

"What I'm saying is," he said, reaching down to lightly run a finger down the back of her hand, "I understand."

 

Rachel turned her palm so that their index fingers locked. She inhaled a deep breath. He felt it go through him. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to kiss her. A slight ruffling noise reminded him that they weren't alone. Raylan glanced behind them. Darla still rested on the bed, now her back was to them. Tim had finished with the firearms. He sat on the opposite bed, his attention divided between Darla and the window. Raylan tried to read the other man's stare, but he came up empty. Instead, he slipped his finger free of Rachel's and put a foot's distance between them.

 

"We have company," she said.

 

The three words pulled Raylan's intention back to the single most important goal, keeping the women safe. A car had pulled into the parking lot. Its headlights were like a beacon in the torrential downpour.

 

"Could be nothing," he said, watching the movement as closely as possible.

 

Tim joined them at the window. "It's impossible to see."

 

"We noticed that," Rachel said wryly. "I'm waking her up just in case."

 

Tim sighed, but he offered no protest.

 

After Tim and Rachel traded positions, Raylan expected a lecture. Or at the least a warning or a reminder about his womanizing ways and how Rachel was off limits. None came. Instead, Tim was quiet and focused. Raylan wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried.

 

Seconds later, the power went out.

 

"Shit," Tim muttered.

 

"Rachel, secure Darla in the bathroom," Raylan said.

 

In this situation, a power outage could be an act of God, or the doings of a badass bastard. One could never be sure until whatever happened next.

 

Raylan's eyes took their time adjusting to the light, but somehow he managed to put his shirt back on. It was damp, but manageable.

 

"Flashlight?" Tim asked, a few feet away.

 

"Yeah." Raylan figured if an ambush happened, they could blind their attackers with the light while the bullets took care of everything else.

 

A moment later, Tim pressed a flashlight in his hand. He disappeared and Raylan heard him at the bathroom with the women, probably handing over another flashlight to them. When the other Marshal returned, he and Raylan worked out a plan, and they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks as always for checking out this story. Reading, reviewing, and leaving kudos means a lot so please keep it coming! I recently had surgery so the updates may be a little staggered for this and my other fics, but the fics will be updated. Just hang in there…and send a few good thoughts, too. :) 
> 
> Well, Raylan made a move and Rachel responded. Soon, they will be free to be a tad more—ahem—expressive. They just have to get through this one rainy night. If there are any Rachel/Raylan moments from the series that you'd like to see explored, don't be shy. I received a great suggestion from Patty regarding the s2 ep with Rachel's brother-in-law, which will come into play in an upcoming chapter. Any more suggestions or ideas? Part of my recuperation is watching as many Justified episodes as possible, especially those featuring Raylan/Rachel moments. lol Also, does anyone know if Tim is an only child? Until next time, thanks again!]


	9. Storm of a Different Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marshals engage in a shootout, and Raylan is put on notice.

Darla tested the weight of the Glock 26 in her hands. She knew the situation made the weapon feel much heavier than it was. When Tim had instructed her on the firearm, he told her that this one was called the Baby Glock. She saw nothing infantile about it. Just holding the gun aged her. Holding a baby had never made her feel this way.

 

"You okay?" Rachel shone the flashlight on the wall to the left of Darla's shoulder. The Marshal leaned against the bathroom sink while Darla sat on the rim of the bathtub.

 

"As well as can be expected."

 

"You know…um," Rachel said. "Tim shouldn't have given you that, and you are not expected to use it."

 

"I know." Darla set the gun on the bathtub beside her. "I'd feel better not being a dead weight, though—"

 

"You're not a dead weight."

 

"We were followed here. The lights are out. In short, shit just got real," she said. "I've made my peace about what may happen after I give testimony, but I'm not ready to die before I reach Lexington. If I can help, I want to. I _need_ to."

 

"You can help us better by not using that thing," Rachel said.

 

"Do you want it?"

 

Rachel nodded.

 

Darla frowned as she thought it over. She understood the three Marshals maybe better than they realized. Raylan was pure Wild West cowboy although he'd deny it to the death. Rachel was by the book and to some extent, so was Tim. He wouldn't have handed over his firearm to Darla without cause. She feared they were cornered. After everything the Cassalotti family had taken from her, she refused to go out like this—in the bathroom of an Arkansas roadside motel.

 

"What if they find us in here?"

 

"I can handle it," Rachel said.

 

"I don't want to die today."

 

"None of us do." Rachel moved to the door and opened it a crack.

 

Darla stood, grabbed the Glock, and joined the Marshal at the door.  The main room was still flooded in darkness. She could make out the silhouette of a figure at the window and some of the larger pieces of furniture, but not much else. Rain continued to pound the roof.

 

She stepped back into the bathroom and returned to her position on the bathtub. Not for the first time since leaving Los Angeles, she began to consider her life choices that brought her to this place. Before she fell in love with Nik Cassalotti, she'd had her whole life figured out. Everything began and ended with her music. All she needed was a recording contract and once she had that, she'd set the world on fire. But then Nik walked into her life and that was it.

 

"You're too quiet," Rachel said.

 

Darla looked up. She'd been so lost in her past that she hadn't noticed when Rachel had returned to perch against the sink. The other woman's stare was steady and concerned. When Rachel handed her a tissue, that's when Darla realized that she was crying. Again.

 

"Thanks."

 

"We'll get you through this," Rachel said, quietly. "Tim never misses, and neither does Raylan. Hell, I'm not too bad either."

 

"Why does everything have to end in death?" Darla wiped her eyes. "I'm sick of all the violence."

 

"Sometimes it's unavoidable."

 

"Believe me, I know. I thought I could run away from it, but…" She sighed. "The bombing took a lot from me, Rachel. I thought this part was over."

 

Rachel sighed. The Marshal seemed lost for words and truthfully, Darla didn't expect her to have the answers. As much as she feared the wrath of Nik's family cursing further retribution on her, Darla knew that Rachel had her own worries with her husband. Whether they were running from him or the Cassalotti clan, Darla was over stress of living on the edge. She just wanted a little bit of peace. Just enough to settle her nerves before hell broke loose with her testimony.

 

"Here." She picked up the Glock by the handle and gave it to Rachel. "I can't use this. I'm afraid."

 

Rachel checked the weapon before slipping it into the waistband of her pants. "We'll get you to Lexington. This is just a slight delay."

 

Darla released a short chuckle that was a blend of humor and defeat. "You Marshals are something else. Okay, Rachel. Whatever you say."

 

R&R

 

While the women were talking, Raylan slipped from the room and found an alcove to wait for any surprise visitors to arrive. He and Tim had worked out a signal with flashes from their flashlights if possible. Otherwise, gunfire would have to do.

 

So far, the storm hadn't let up. Rain poured like it was its last chance and wind was a constant force and companion. In short, Raylan could barely see shit. But with Tim being the sharpshooter, he wanted him inside with the women. If Raylan missed, the former Ranger would definitely be ready for them if they reached the motel room.

 

Raylan pushed wet strands of hair from his forehead. _Only determined jackasses would go for a hit in this kind of weather_ , he thought. With the rain hitting the roof, nothing was better than holding a beautiful woman in his arms. For a long time, the only woman Raylan imagined in his bed was Winona, but now as the thought came to mind, he envisioned someone completely unlike her. Not just in skin tone, but in temperament and values, too. Underneath Rachel's cool exterior hid a passionate nature. He'd caught glimpses of it throughout the trip, but somehow, the slight touch of her finger curled around his confirmed it.

 

He sighed. They couldn't get back to Lexington fast enough.

 

Raylan heard the footsteps a half second before the first man crossed his alcove. The guy was white, young, and well-dressed. He carried a firearm at his side. Another followed with a sawed off shotgun close to his hip.

 

 _Shit_.

 

"Drop your weapons," Raylan said after identifying himself as a Marshal.

 

Of course, they fired on him. Quick and anticipating their move, Raylan returned fire and dropped one. The other one ran around the corner in the direction of their room. More gunshots rang out and by the time Raylan arrived, the other man was face down dead on the floor.

 

Tim kept his piece aimed and ready as he kicked the shotgun across the room. Streaks of lightning provided just enough light for the two men to communicate with minimal language. Raylan nodded toward the bathroom. "Alright?"

 

"Yeah," Tim said, as he knelt down to check the prone man's pulse. "Did you get anything out there?"

 

"One," Raylan said. "There were just the two."

 

He headed toward the landline to call it in. The locals had already been notified of gunfire and were en route. He called Art as Tim searched for ID.

 

"Nothing," Tim said. "I'll see what the other one has."

 

"Well, you almost made it a week without killing anyone—"

 

"It's justified, Art," Raylan said, cutting the other man off. "Besides, one was mine and the other wasn't. As long as we get the witness back safe, right?"

 

"Is she?"

 

"Of course."

 

The call ended soon after and Raylan was pleased with the timing because Tim's news wouldn't have fared well with Art at all.

 

"Are you sure you got him?"

 

"Yeah," Raylan bit out. "What?"

 

"There's nothing out there but rain and puddles. He's gone."

 

"Shit."

 

"Stay with them—"

 

"I'm the better shot," Tim said. "I'll go."

 

R&R

 

Gunfire made the walls shake inside the small bathroom. Rachel sensed Darla's fear escalate, but there was nothing she could do about it except honor her promise. The other woman crouched inside the tub without being told and Rachel was grateful for her common sense.

 

Her first instinct to protect their witness warred with her need to assist her coworkers. Rachel held her gun primed and ready. Unable to stand flush against the wall because of the sink, Rachel used her body to shield Darla. That was the best she could do.

 

Silence came sooner than she expected. She was about to open the door when a familiar voice drawled, "It's me."

 

Raylan opened the door. To her relief, he appeared unharmed. He held his firearm in his right hand. A slight frown marred his handsome face he looked at the women. "Everyone okay?"

 

"Yeah," Rachel said.

 

"Where's Tim?" Darla asked after they stepped into the bedroom.

 

"There were at least two," Raylan said. "He's looking for the other one."

 

"Go after him," Rachel said. "We're okay here."

 

A moment later, the whine of sirens broke through the heavy rhythm of pounding rain. Single file they headed toward the door. Raylan stepped out while the women paused at the dead body.

 

"I know him," Darla said, backing away from the lifeless figure.

 

At her words Raylan turned and lingered in the doorway. He seemed highly attuned to both the outside world and their hotel room. "Who is it?" he asked.

 

"Nik's brother-in-law," she said. "Deke Carter. You said there's another one? What did he look like?"

 

Just then, Tim returned. He shook his head in response to the silent questions that were being thrown at him.

 

"I didn't get a good look at him," Raylan answered.

 

Darla nodded. She pulled her jacket on and wrapped it tightly around her. "Of the family, he was one of the good ones." She released a sound that was part sob and part chuckle. "I guess I was wrong."

 

Rachel noticed how Tim avoided looking at either her or Raylan. He simply made a beeline straight for Darla, leading her to the bed and turning her away from the body. She pretended not to notice and joined Raylan in the doorway. Once she reached him, he nodded for them to stepped out onto the landing. The rain was easing up just a bit, but the wind had brought a chill to the air. Summer storms were definitely the worst.

 

"I can't believe between you and Tim the other one got away."

 

Raylan frowned. "He didn't. I got him."

 

"Oh," she said slowly, nodding. "You shot someone. Warning shot?"

 

"No," he bit out.

 

"You need to talk?" she asked.

 

The question seemed to irk him at first. Their eyes met and a slow smile parted his mouth.

 

"No, but I appreciate the offer."

 

She just smiled and shrugged. Far too soon, heavy footsteps signaled the approach of the locals. Another second of them sharing a smile managed to warm her from the blustery wind before beige and blue uniforms came along, demanding answers. Raylan took command, and she was content to let him.

 

His lazy drawl fit right in with the culture. She'd live in the South long enough to know the men, although they'd all sworn to uphold the law same as her, didn't want to hear the story from her be the reasons gender or skin tone. And after the last few hours, she wasn't in the mood to deal with bigotry or misogyny. Instead, she'd rather indulge herself in her new favorite pastime—Raylan Watching.

 

Now that it was over, she could admit to herself that the gun blasts had scared her. What if it really had been Joe tailing them? She hated the thought of him going out like that. Yes, he was making her life hell, but once upon a time, she had loved him. But even more than that, what if Raylan had been hit? Was it wrong that the latter question frightened her more the former? This _thing_ that was growing between her and the incorrigible lawman was in its infancy, yet her emotions had threatened to take over when she heard the pow-pow-pow of bullets. Only reflex had kept her from leaving Darla. She _had_ to protect the witness. That was a truth she could not forsake. _But, dammit, if something had happened to Raylan Givens…_

 

Rachel blinked. There was no way she would allow herself to complete that thought. She simply could not give in to that line of thinking.

 

"You okay?"

 

Rachel returned Raylan's stare. Had she said something aloud? She frowned and looked away. When had he left the other lawmen and joined her? How did she miss him coming to her? Had she been that consumed by thoughts of him?

 

"Rachel?" He reached for her.

 

Angry with herself, she jerked back. "I'm fine." Upon his hurt expression, she softened her tone. "Really, I'm okay. It's my job. Of course, I am."

 

He didn't look convinced and she wasn't ready for an interrogation. So to set things back to a place she understood, she relied on her mask of professionalism. If he bought it, she didn't know. Rachel turned her back and did the opposite of what she truly wanted. She walked away.

 

R&R

 

The urgency of protecting Darla coupled with the assistance of the local Marshal service aided them in getting out of the bullet-riddled motel room and back on the interstate. Slick from rainfall, the road was quiet and the driving easy. Raylan had taken the wheel while Rachel claimed shotgun. The seating arrangements were fine with Tim because he was more than comfortable in the backseat with Darla.

 

Snuggled in a blanket and lost in a fitful slumber, she rested with her head on his shoulder. Several times, he caught Raylan's stare in the rearview mirror. Maybe this was against department regulations, but as far as Tim could tell, he hadn't crossed any lines, yet.

 

The disappearance of Raylan's shooting victim had put them on edge. Tim had searched the entire complex. The rain only served to aid their assailants. Blood would have left a trail, but the rain and wind washed it away. The weather aided in covering the tracks for the getaway vehicle, too. Only Darla's positive ID of Tim's victim was enough to clue them to who was on their trail. Or so they thought.

 

Although no one had said anything, Tim still wasn't a 100% that Rachel's ex wasn't out there somewhere, too. Rachel had confided over after-work beers about the disintegration of her marriage and how it happened suddenly, without warning. She told him how Joe had changed. They both had, but it was the differences in his outlook that pushed her to call the lawyer. In the end, the things Rachel didn't say were enough to make Tim uneasy now. His fingers trailed over the butt of his weapon and he sighed. He couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't going to end well.

 

Well on the other side of midnight and long after they had crossed the Mississippi River, Raylan guided the Tahoe onto an off ramp and toward a Shell station. At the drop in speed, the women began to stir.

 

Darla sat up. "Sorry," she managed to mumble mid-yawn.

 

"No problem."

 

The Tahoe stopped at the pump closest to the station. Raylan looked over his shoulder at them. "Pit stop?"

 

"I'll take it," Rachel said. "Darla?"

 

"I'm with you." She unfolded the blanket from around her. "Where are we?"

 

"On the other side of Memphis," Tim said.

 

She smiled at him. "You want anything?"

 

He shook his head.

 

"I don't want anything either," Raylan said.

 

The women headed inside. Raylan went to the pump and Tim joined him.

 

"Art's not gonna like it."

 

"No more than he'll like you breaking Rachel's heart or screwing with her head," Tim replied. "She's his best Marshal."

 

Raylan cocked an eyebrow. "You let him get away with that?"

 

"He only says it 'cause it's true," he answered honestly. "Between the two of us, she's the best. Hell, no one in the division has anything on Rachel."

 

"You two are close," Raylan said with an edge.

 

"Not like you think."

 

"You knew about Joe."

 

Tim shrugged.

 

"I'm never one to give advice," Raylan said. "I'm even worse at following, but she's a witness—"

 

"I have two words for you."

 

Raylan just looked at him.

 

"Ava Crowder. "

 

"That was different."

 

Tim grunted.

 

"We had a past…of sorts. Look, I get it. She's beautiful. She's in distress. Being the hero feels good—"

 

"Just stop. Nothing's happened."

 

"Not yet." Raylan pulled the handle from the gas tank and ripped the receipt off. He fixed Tim with a knowing look.

 

"Just so you know, I'm keeping my eye on you and Rachel. Don't fuck up."

 

Raylan grew still. His voice hardened. "Was that a warning?"

 

Tim just looked at him. "It's whatever you need it to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! I'm still in recovery mode, but I'm hoping to figure out a schedule. We'll see how that goes. Rachel and Raylan are taking their time, but Darla isn't the only one hip to their changing relationship. Tim has put Raylan on notice. Uh oh! The next chapter, they'll be in Lexington. Will all hell break loose? It's home turf time for the Marshals.


	10. Man Without Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return to Kentucky has consequences. Raylan and Rachel take small steps to try to figure things out.

Chapter 10: Man Without Honor

 

Homecomings rarely lived up to expectations. Raylan knew better than to be too excited about the return to Kentucky. Sure, getting the witness back safe was an achievement, but he had never doubted Darla's safety for a moment. What bothered him was the lost connection with Rachel and not being able to protect her 24/7 in case her ex decided to do something stupid. Despite the safe ride from Arkansas onward, Raylan still had concerns. Big concerns.

 

At the office, he sat impatiently in the fishbowl of the conference room as Art sent Darla off with a fresh pair of Deputy Marshals to an undisclosed location for safekeeping while ordering Rachel and Tim home for rest. For some reason, Raylan had been ordered to stick around.

 

Eventually, Art returned. He did the squinty eye thing that made the younger Deputy Marshals squirm even when innocent of wrongdoing. Having committed enough wrongs in his career that evened up the rights, Raylan remained still. Of course, the look unnerved him. He was just too much of an ass to show it.

 

"Well?" Art said, finally, perching on the edge of the table with his arms folded across his chest.

 

"Well what?"

 

"Anything you want to tell me."

 

Raylan frowned. "Tim killed that guy. Ballistics will prove it."

 

"I'm not talking about some ballistics bullshit. The three of you look like shit."

 

"It wasn't your usual witness run, but we got her here safe," Raylan replied.

 

"There's more to it than that." Art stood and moved to the far side of the room where he poured himself a mug of coffee. "You're being cagey. I don't like being kept out of the loop."

 

"This ain't a rodeo. There's no loop."

 

"Raylan."

 

"Art."

 

"What the fuck happened out there?"

 

"The Cassalotti family sent their goons after us. What the hell do you think happened out there?"

 

Art took a long swallow of coffee. His gaze never strayed from Raylan, who returned the look with a hard glare. Finally, Art said, "You slept with her, didn't you?"

 

"What?" Raylan scrambled from the chair, pissed and indignant. "What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"You slept with the witness," Art said. "Dammit, Raylan. Tim and Rachel around aren't enough for you to keep it in your pants? Vasquez won't be happy about thi—"

 

"I didn't sleep with her," Raylan said. He carefully placed his Stetson on his head and strode to the door. "If there's nothing else, I'm in need of a shower and a bed."

 

"I know there's more."

 

"Are we done?"

 

Art took another sip of coffee. "For now."

 

Raylan stormed from the office and didn't stop until he reached the elevator. As they crossed into Kentucky, Raylan and Tim had given Rachel their word that they wouldn't say anything about Joe. They hadn't promised however not to overstep any personal boundaries she'd no doubt erect now that they were back. Although Raylan hadn't talked it out with Tim, he had a feeling the other man would add Joe Brooks onto his list of assignments. Meanwhile, protecting Rachel Brooks had moved to the top of Raylan's. But he hadn't lied about the shower and the bed. He'd get to one now. The other would have to wait.

 

R&R

 

Crossing the state line had put Rachel on edge. She tried to pretend otherwise when Art debriefed her and with Tim and Raylan, but she wasn't sure if she convinced Art. He had a way of playing his cards close to his vest. She hadn't asked Raylan and Tim to keep Joe's actions a secret. Yet, when they volunteered… She hadn't been eager to decline their offer. Being a strong, capable Deputy Marshal meant everything to her. It wouldn't help her career at all if the boss got wind that her ex was a stalker. Black women had to be diligent in this line of work. That's just the way it was.

 

After the debriefing, she headed straight to her mom's. With Joe unpredictable and unstable, she had to be sure of her mother and her nephew's safety. Because of the early hour, her mom wasn't dressed when Rachel let herself in and Nick was still fast asleep.

 

Her mother's hurried motions in the kitchen as she prepared coffee and insisted on making breakfast for Rachel hinted at her distress before the words came tumbling out.

 

"I'm sorry about Joe," she said. "I shouldn't have told him you were away. He didn't sound right, but I didn't catch it at first."

 

"Mama, I don't blame you," Rachel said. She sat at the kitchen table. Tired from the trip, she found it hard to keep her eyes open. "Joe has a problem. We have to be prepared."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You and Nick can't stay here—"

 

"This is my home," her mother cut in. She flipped over pancakes in the skillet with extra vigor. "He's not running me from my home."

 

"Mama, be serious. He's not the same and it's not like you're running. You're keeping you and Nick safe. That's the important thing."

 

"What about you?"

 

Rachel rubbed her forehead. "What about me?"

 

Her mother turned to look at her. "Are you coming with us? Wherever it is you're sending us off to?"

 

"I can't. I have a job—"

 

"It's you he wants!"

 

"Ssh!" Rachel stood quickly. "You'll wake Nick. I can protect myself, but I can't do that if I'm worried about you."

 

Her mother seemed unconvinced. Rachel wasn't in the mood for a fight. This should have been easy. This was common sense. She hadn't expected her mother's resistance.

 

"Mama—"

 

"I hate for Nick to miss school."

 

"I don't like it either," Rachel said. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as sudden tears pricked them. Her nephew had known far too much violence in his young years. It pained her to know that she was adding to it.

 

"Spring Break is in two weeks," her mother said. "Joe has always had bad timing."

 

Rachel released a short chuckle.

 

"I can't imagine where we'd go that he wouldn't know to find us," her mother stated.

 

"But Mama…"

 

"Here me out. He can be reasonable and he's always liked Nick. Let's just wait out the two weeks. If all's well, then Nick doesn't have to leave school unnecessarily. If not, then we'll do something else…but you're coming with us."

 

"I can't."

 

"You can or we're not going anywhere."

 

R&R

 

Raylan took the fastest shower of his life, but he decided the nap would have to wait. Dressed in a fresh pair of dark blue jeans and form fitting black shirt, he pulled on a pair of boots, grabbed his Stetson and headed back out. As if man and car had become one, the Lincoln headed straight to the tree-lined neighborhood where Rachel's mother lived. Raylan didn't know how he knew she'd be there. He just did.

 

Her mother didn't seem surprised when he stood on the threshold. She opened the door wide and ushered him inside with a, "Hello, Marshal."

 

"Good morning, Mrs. Parker," he said, after removing his hat. "Is Rachel here?"

 

"She's taking a shower." The older woman gave him a smile that so reminded him of Rachel that he couldn't help but grin. "Would like some coffee or breakfast?" she asked.

 

"Coffee would be perfect." He followed her into the kitchen.

 

"Breakfast?" She handed him a full, steaming mug of coffee. "We have pancakes and bacon. I can fix you eggs anyway you like them."

 

"I bet you could."

 

She grinned in response.

 

"But I have to say no. I'm not a breakfast person. Coffee is enough. Thank you, ma'am."

 

"Such good manners." She seemed to take him from head to toe and back again. "Are you sure? It wouldn't be any trouble."

 

"I'm sure. The coffee is perfect, though. The best I've had in a long time."

She giggled in response. "We can wait for Rachel in the living room. She shouldn't be too long now."

 

He followed her as she left the kitchen. From his time there before, he remembered the many photographs that adorned the wall. One of a younger Rachel had thoroughly captured his attention. He ached to go back to it without being too obvious. A couple of minutes passed before he thought to hell with it and strode to a shelf of framed family memories and openly ogled Rachel's past.

 

The Deputy Marshal sure was pretty in youth not that she wasn't drop dead gorgeous now. Her eyes revealed everything, but her mouth held promises that he longed to explore. Only the sensation of his neck hairs on end kept him from groaning aloud at that thought. So again, he zoned in on the photo of little Rachel with the wide toothy grin and bows in her hair. Nearby were framed images of Shawnee. Some contained both sisters. The contrast in personalities was startling.

 

"Those are school pictures," Delores Parker said. "Rachel was always a little serious even as a child, but Shawnee's free spirit often contained the heaviness of demons. None of us could see it then."

 

"There's a hint of mischief in this one." Raylan held up the photo of Rachel that grabbed his attention.

 

"Oh, she has some spice," her mother confided.

 

"Does she?" Raylan set the photo back on the shelf. He considered a quick interrogation but the knowing look on her mother's face made him bite his tongue.

 

"She won't be happy you're here."

 

"Why am I here?" he asked.

 

"Because of Joe—"

 

"Mama, who are you talking to?" Rachel joined them, clad in a knee-length terry cloth pink bathrobe and a matching towel wrapped turban style around her head. She paused where the hallway opened into the living room to stare at Raylan. "What are you doing here?"

 

Only her mother's presence kept him honorable. He gave the ripe fullness of her cleavage that the robe failed to conceal just a slight lingering glance. The same went for her shapely legs and trim ankles. When their gazes locked, he recognized fire burning in Rachel's dark brown eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was the same fire that raged inside himself at the sight of her in the scant attire.

 

"Raylan?" she bit out.

 

"It's what your mother said," he all but stammered.

 

"Mama?" She turned on her mother with the fierceness of an alley cat. "What did you say to him?"

 

"Don't use that tone with me," Delores Parker snapped. The smiles she had for Raylan gone as she faced her daughter. "He's here because of Joe. Go put some clothes on."

 

"You don't have to rush on my account," he mumbled.

 

Both women looked at him. He just shrugged. Finally, Rachel said, "Follow me."

 

He did. They headed down the hall to a bedroom where lacy underwear and street clothes were laid out on the bed. The lingerie intrigued him. He didn't fight the urge to imagine how the white lace would look against her smooth, dark skin. He inhaled a sharp breath and rubbed his hand across his mouth. His breath lodged in his throat when the door closed shut and he knew it was just the two of them in the room.

 

_What the hell is she trying to do to me?_ he thought.

 

She moved to block his view of the lingerie. With her back to him, he surmised when she stepped into the panties. The robe slipped from her shoulders a moment before she slid on the bra. Her nimble fingers made quick work of securing the fasteners. He didn't question the vision of her performance. The road trip had played with them in ways that they hadn't had time to process. Later, she'd probably punish them both for this, but for now, he would remain silent and enjoy every second.

 

Far too soon, she tugged on a pair of dark jeans and a yellow button down shirt. Dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. "You shouldn't have come."

 

"Maybe not."

 

"Why did Art keep you?"

 

He wagered on telling her the truth. In his hesitation, she indicated for him to sit. He joined her on the bed.

 

"He thinks I slept with Darla," he answered.

 

Rachel laughed. The first lightness appeared in her eyes since his arrival. He responded with a smile. It had never occurred to him to laugh at Art's accusation. Far too many times, it had been a fair assessment of events.

 

"We should tell him about Joe." She didn't sound convinced. In fact, the sudden seriousness revealed she was far from it.

 

"He wouldn't use it against you," Raylan said, trying to understand.

 

"I know." She was digging her fingers into the curve of her knees. "I keep my personal life out of the office."

 

"Unlike me."

 

"That wasn't a dig," she said quickly.

 

"I didn't…" He saw the flicker that had danced across her face. "It was a bad joke. I know it wasn't. I could learn from you."

 

He placed a hand over hers. "Rachel…"

 

She shook her head, but she didn't move her hand. "Raylan."

 

"I'm here to help."

 

"Is this what that is?" She jutted her chin to where their hands connected.

 

He heard her breathing change. It now matched the rapid pace of his heartbeat. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. _Would a kiss be too soon?_ That was a question he'd never considered. Usually, he just dove in. Questions be damned.

 

This time was different.

 

With his other hand, he unwrapped the towel from around her head. Damp curls fell to her shoulders. He allowed his fingers to play in the silky coils. His fingertips skimmed the base of her neck. He pressed his nose against her hair and inhaled citrus and lavender. Her shiver went straight through him.

 

"Art will take one look at us and he'll know."

 

Raylan sighed. She was too smart for her own good. It pained him that she was right. It was worse that he didn't care.

 

A screech of tires pierced outside the window. A door slam followed. Raylan's response was swallowed amid the heaving pounding on the front door. He pressed a quick, open-mouthed kiss to her forehead and strode from the room. Rachel shoved past him to meet her soon to be ex-husband at the door.

 

Raylan caught up to her and snatched her back. "What the hell are you doing? I'll handle this."

 

"You're not my man," she said.

 

"Not yet," he muttered.

 

With Rachel flustered, Raylan stepped around her and opened the door. Sure enough, Joe stood on the other side.

 

"Who the fuck are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading! Hello new readers! Thanks for following, too. Reviews/comments/kudos, etc. are always appreciated. I enjoy feedback. Suggestions are adored, too. Never fear that my interest is not here for this fic. The only problem is time. Truly, working on this chapter has been a cure for a rough few days. If I had more time to write, I would. Your continued patience is a gift that I cherish. 
> 
> Well…things were more focused on R&R in this chapter, but Tim & Darla will get their due later. I needed a quickie to soothe myself. (lol) More is coming with all 4 sooner than later, I hope. In this one, Raylan is closing in and Rachel is becoming a little seductress. Hmm… In an aside, did anyone else swoon on the last ep when he told her, "You know I think the world of you"? Of course, prior to that, I was ready to slug him. I have a gut feeling about those two on the series. We just may see them realized on screen, yet. As always, thanks again and I'd love to hear from you!]


	11. Thinking About the EX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exes make an appearance in one form or another. Raylan practices keeping his cool in a heated situation. Tim determines the importance of professional conduct. Rachel ponders an irresistible proposal.

Chapter 11: Thinking About the Ex

 

Darla settled in the backseat of the black SUV with her thoughts engaged in a battle of tug of war. She knew that she should focus on the case and staying safe. The new Deputy Marshals assigned by the head honcho Art were probably just as capable as Tim, Rachel, and Raylan. Their lack of personality didn’t mean they couldn’t protect her. It shouldn’t matter to her that Deputy Marshals Brad Jones and Wes Smith were painfully efficient and stodgy. But the truth was in the half hour since she’d been handed over to their care, she’d come to the major realization that she missed Rachel and Raylan’s insane layers of tension and weird flirtatious banter. And she especially missed Tim.

 

She ran a hand through her short cropped curls and sighed. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men? Weren’t the scars on her back enough to merit a PhD in the potential for heartbreak? Not that Tim, a Deputy Marshal no less, was anything like Nik Cassalotti, the once heir apparent to Kentucky’s elite crime family. Yet, there was a glimmer in his eyes that reminded her of Nik’s. Tim would protect her, no questions asked, and he’d kill to do it. Heck, he already had.

 

The passing scenery blurred for a moment. She blinked until her vision cleared. Of course, that was his job, but still the lack of remorse of taking a life… Was that something Marshals had to learn or was there more to Tim Gutterson than met the eye? Darla chuckled softly to herself. There certainly was more to her. She wasn’t being fair if she tried to pigeon hole a man she just met into being just a hero. It was a nice idea, though. Heroes in her world had been few and far between.

 

"The USAA wants to meet," Jones said, shifting in the passenger seat to face her. He held his cell phone in his hand.

 

"Is it up to me?" Darla asked, surprised.

 

"He knows you just arrived and transport wasn’t easy."

 

"How long will it take?"

 

Jones shrugged.

 

"Sure," she said. "Waiting won’t make it any easier."

 

He responded in the affirmative on the phone. Meanwhile, Smith made a U-turn and they headed back to the headquarters they had just left.

 

A few minutes later, Darla was back in the glass-walled conference room. Assistant U.S. Attorney David Vasquez sat across from her. A closed manila folder lay underneath his left hand. A yellow legal pad rested near his right. He rolled a pen across the pad with his index finger. Darla found a rhythm to the movement and willed herself to listen to his questions and answer accordingly.

 

"Do you have any questions for me?"

 

She frowned. "Such as?"

 

"Anything," he said. "You’ve waived your right to counsel—"

 

"I don’t need a lawyer, right?" she asked. "Unless something has changed? I wasn’t aware that there were charges against me. Those people almost killed me with that bomb. I lost everything."

 

"Nothing has changed," David said. "I didn’t mean to imply… I have your statement. Is there anything else you care to add? Surprises won’t help."

 

"My goal isn’t to help them. They hate me. Everything I’ve said is the truth. I’ve sworn to it and I will do that in court, too. I won’t lie to convict them or to protect them. They killed Nik and they almost got me. His family did that. You have no idea how badly I want this over."

 

"I can imagine."

 

"Maybe," she said quietly.

 

He asked her to clarify a few details. She gave him names. Dates were muddled. The doctors had warned that some memory loss was to be expected. Vasquez would have to bring witnesses to show that her recall was reliable. After twenty minutes and a series of yawns, David fixed her with a faint sympathetic smile.

 

"That’s enough for now," he said as he stood and gathered his folders and pad. After he stuffed everything inside his briefcase, he stepped to the conference room’s glass doors. Just as he reached them, her cell phone rang.

 

The caller ID read "Unknown," but she didn’t consider that before she answered it. Before she could say a word, Bill Withers’ voice and familiar tune echoed through the receiver.

 

" _Wonder this time where she's gone_

_Wonder if she's gone to stay_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_ …"

 

Darla ended the call and dropped the phone on the floor.

 

"What’s wrong?" David moved back into the room.

 

She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. "They know I’m here."

 

R&R

 

Raylan clutched the butt of his handgun. Danger flared in the eyes of Rachel’s ex and one move, be it wrong or otherwise, could send the other man into an explosive fit. Instinct placed Raylan between Rachel and the door. He sensed she didn’t like it. Hell, he’d be a fool to misinterpret the quick hitch in her breath, but dammit, Raylan didn’t like the wildness that came off Joe Brooks in waves. It reminded him of Arlo minutes before he’d tear into his mother or even Raylan for that matter. No, he wasn’t Rachel’s man yet, but he was her friend. He’d take whatever Joe wanted to put out, but he for damn sure wasn’t about to let the man get anywhere near Rachel or her mother.

 

"Raylan…" she murmured just low enough for him to hear. "It’s okay—"

 

"Uncle Joe!" Rachel’s nephew came from nowhere to infiltrate the tense standoff. Nick was at his uncle’s side before either Raylan or Rachel could stop him. The boy pulled the other man in and to Raylan’s surprise, Joe’s expression softened.

 

Joe squeezed Nick’s shoulder. "You’ve grown a foot."

 

"Maybe more than that," the boy said. "Where’ve you been?"

 

Joe paused a moment to look at Rachel. "I’ve been around."

 

Raylan never loosened his grip. He fought the urge to crowd Rachel, to use his body as her shield. She stepped out of his range as if she knew his internal struggle. Her arms hung at her sides, but there was a slight tremor to her right hand. He was aware of the deep breaths that settled her as she moved toward her nephew.

 

"Do you have any more of those crazy tokens?" Nick asked, looking at Raylan.

 

"Not on me, but I can get you some."

 

Nick laughed. "No thanks."

 

"Okay, enough with the jokes," Rachel said. "Time for school."

 

"But I’m late," Nick said, "and you and Uncle Joe are back—"  


"Not a good enough reason for you to miss school," his grandmother said. "Get your backpack."

 

Mumbling under his breath, the preteen trudged out of the room.

 

"Mama, could you drive him to school?" Rachel asked.

 

Delores looked ready to protest. Raylan had a hard time holding his tongue, but he understood family dynamics. This was a good plan. If only he could get Rachel to join her mother and nephew for the ride.

 

"Sure." Delores’ mouth curved into a tight smile. "Always good to see you, Joe. Take care, Marshal."

 

Minutes later, she and Nick were gone. Joe wasted no time hurling accusations.

 

"So much for marriage vows," he said. "Forsaking all others don’t mean shit to you, huh?"

 

"Hey now—"

 

Joe cut Raylan off and kept going. "This is the Marshal you been spending so much time with. Him? This scrawny white boy?"

 

"Scrawny?" Raylan repeated. "I’m not scrawny."

 

"Raylan." Rachel shook her head.

 

"Raylan?" Joe said. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

 

"Family name."

 

Rachel shook her head. "What do you want?"

 

"To talk. In private."

 

"Not gonna happen," Raylan said.

 

"Are you fucking him?" Joe asked.

 

"Are you serious?" Raylan countered.

 

"Look!" Rachel said. "We don’t have anything to talk about in private or otherwise. Just sign the papers and we both can move on—"

 

"I’m not signing shit," Joe said. "I’m not ready to move on. You’re my wife."

 

"But I’m not your property."

 

She headed toward the front door and opened it wide.

 

"You’re kidding," Joe said.

 

"I hoped we could be civil—"

 

"I’m supposed to be cool with you cheating on me?" Joe asked, storming toward her. "With him?" He pointed at Raylan. "What man is chill when his woman is fucking another man?"

 

"I never cheated on you," she said through gritted teeth. Her dark eyes flashed with indignation.

 

Raylan held himself ready. He wanted to punch the guy minutes ago and with every word that spewed from his mouth, the want only grew. The possibility that a fight would make things worse for Rachel was the only thing that held him back. That and her wrath.

 

Joe gave Raylan a hard look. "You ever been with a black woman?"

 

"Dammit, Joe!" Now, Rachel seemed ready to punch him. Both hands had balled into fists. Her stance was low and aggressive. Raylan had seen her take out several perps with less preparation.

 

"I haven’t been with her," Raylan answered honestly.

 

"But you want to," Joe muttered.

 

"Get out," Rachel said.

 

Her voice cut like ice. Although the words weren’t directed at him, Raylan felt the chill to his bones. He witnessed the effect on Joe. The fight left the other man. Joe’s shoulders slumped. He tried to reach out for Rachel but she flinched from his touch.

 

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "Let’s just talk. You and me. We don’t need a witness, Rachel. I didn’t mean any of it. Seeing another man around you made me a little crazy. I miss you."

 

"Just go."

 

Joe offered no protest. He left the house, climbed into his car, and drove away. The screech of tires was Raylan’s cue to release his grip on the handgun. Rachel lingered at the open door, her gaze downcast. He waited for her to move or speak, but she remained still. Then, he moved.

 

Raylan closed the front door and locked it. Without hesitating, he cupped her cheek with one hand and used the other to draw her to him. Her body curved against his willingly. A low sob vibrated against him as she closed her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on her head and held her.

 

R&R

 

Tim heard about Darla’s phone call from Deputy Marshal Jones. Not long after, Art called and put him back on detail. Since Tim was en route to the safe house, he was more than ready to return to the assignment.

 

The location was in one of Lexington’s new housing developments. Tim would’ve chosen a more discreet location, but he knew that he could protect her anywhere. Smith met him at the front door. The other Marshal’s expression was never an easy read. Tim tossed his bag near the staircase and asked about Darla. They told him she was upstairs. He headed straight up.

 

He found her in the master suite. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her knees hugged to her chest. Her attention was focused on the open window so she didn’t see him and he was allowed a moment to scrutinize her profile. Fear was evident. The call had spooked her. They’d heard the song numerous times on the road. The four of them had tried to label the occurrences as possible coincidence. Now all of that was thrown out the window.

 

"Hey," he said softly.

 

She jumped at the sound of his voice and he could have kicked himself. When their gazes connected, her smile made him forgive his blunder. He closed the door. To his surprise she laughed.

 

"Hi."

 

"May I?"

 

She nodded.

 

He joined her on the floor. This close, he noted the strain in her eyes and the dried tears that stained her cheeks. Only a couple of hours had passed since he’d seen her, but it felt like weeks. Holding her was severely inappropriate. Closing the door was against protocol, too. It would be his ass if the other Deputy Marshals walked in and found him engaging in unprofessional behavior. On the road, he could throw caution to the wind, but here, he had to play it as straight as possible. Being near her was everything. Tim didn’t dare risk being kicked off the case because he gave in to his needs.

 

But he wasn’t prepared when she took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder.

 

"Darla…" He let her name hang there. How could he deny either of them this?

 

"I know," she said. "I don’t want to get you in trouble."

 

"I’m not worried about me," he said. "How are you?"

 

"Your boss let you come here to ask me that?" She laced their fingers together. Her fingers were slender against his thick digits.

 

"I’m working with Smith and Jones."

 

"Are Raylan and Rachel coming, too?"

 

He shrugged. "I don’t know."

 

"Is Rachel okay?"

 

"As far as I know," he replied. "You never told me if you are."

 

"I could lie."

 

"I wish you wouldn’t."

 

She squeezed his hand again. "I was away for a very long time and I thought I was okay, but I guess they had my number the whole time. It’s weird knowing I was never safe."

 

"You’re safe now."

 

She raised her head the moment he turned his and their gazes locked. They stared at each other for a while.

 

R&R

 

Rachel cradled her beer between her palms as Raylan lined up the white ball. His tumbler of whiskey balanced on the edge of the pool table. She had visions of his shot going askew and spilling Kentucky’s best all over the hardwood floors. For the first time in hours, she found herself smiling.

 

"What?" Raylan asked. His piercing eyes twinkled. A grin threatened at the corners of his mouth. "Think I won’t make it?"

 

"I’m sure you know your way around a pool table."

 

"That would be a fair assessment." He winked at her, called his shot and damned if he didn’t make it. "Go ahead."

 

She shook her head. "No. Your turn. I’ll go when you miss."

 

He had solids. She had stripes. He made his shots and she appreciated that he didn’t miss to make her feel better. While he played, she found a stool and nursed her beer. Early evening was settling in. The regular patrons took their place at the bar. A trio of frat boys claimed the table adjacent to theirs. They seemed harmless enough, but Rachel knew better than to take that for granted.

 

"Do you think I’m scrawny?" Raylan handed her a stick. "Your turn."

 

"Scrawny is harsh." She took the stick and gave him her beer.

 

"I’ll say." He took a deep swallow. "Scrawny."

 

She giggled, sobered long enough to call her shot, and missed on purpose.

 

"We should have wagered," he murmured. They traded beer and stick again.

 

Rachel had spent hours with Raylan before. Hunting fugitives. Working a case. Planning and plotting. But they had never been together one on one like this. He took care of her after Joe left and he was doing the same now. She could call him on it, but the truth was she liked his company. Raylan was charming, funny, and sexy as hell. Not to mention she appreciated how other than "scrawny," he hadn’t mentioned her ex or the near altercation once.

 

A few times, she’d caught Raylan staring, like now, as he lined up the white ball with the orange. His warm brown eyes held promises. She pondered the possibilities.

 

"Where are you staying tonight?"

 

"Excuse me?" She coughed, choking on the beer she’d just swallowed.

 

"You heard me." Raylan leaned against the table as he cocked his head to look down at her.

 

"At my place."

 

"Does he still have a key?"

 

"We’re not having this conversation—"

 

"Why not?" He followed her to the bar. She pulled out some bills to pay for her drinks and he covered her hand. "I got this."

 

"I’m okay."

 

"Really?" He sounded unconvinced. His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "Stay here. You’ll be safe."

 

"From Joe," she said. Her heart raced with every swipe of his thumb. "What about you?"

 

"What about me?"

 

She wasn’t sure if clarifying the question was wise. The attraction wasn’t one-sided anymore if it ever had been. Agreeing to stay with him could be the dumbest decision she ever made, or the wisest. He went through women like alcoholics went through bourbon. If she could make it simple, impersonal, she could get through it with her heart intact. But they had passed simple and impersonal miles ago.

 

A flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. She understood then that he shared her concerns and her fears. But he smiled that Raylan Givens all-knowing smile.

 

"Stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Welcome, new readers! As always, thanks for reading, following, favoriting, bookmarking, dropping kudos and leaving reviews. Your interest and patience is deeply appreciated. This chapter brought the return of Tim and Darla; the wrath of Joe; and Raylan’s proposition. I have a little confession. The next chapter could go in a couple of directions for R&R and I’m on the fence in regards to the will they/won’t they dilemma. Any thoughts, opinions, etc? Things are getting buck wild on Justified and I am crossing my fingers that Rachel and Tim make an appearance soon. Thanks again! ]


	12. Through the Broken Promised Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy on various levels for both couples. Emotional confrontations, lots of touching, and a fair amount of arousal.

Chapter 12: Through the Broken Promised Land

 

As Rachel headed to the corner and stared out the window, Raylan viewed his scant dwellings over the bar with fresh eyes. This wasn't much better than the hotel room he holed up in when he first returned to Kentucky from Miami, but instead of paying by the week, rent was traded for his bouncer duties downstairs. His age and career achievements notwithstanding, he should have had solid walls with a firm concrete foundation underneath. Maybe a white picket fence or at least a two-car garage.

 

He hadn't thought much about real estate since Winona left but now that he brought Rachel inside, Raylan couldn't get the idea out of his head. The house in Harlan County was just that. A house. He didn't have a home. It shamed him that he didn't have a home to offer his friend to protect her. Mostly just a room. With a bar of noisy, drunken college kids beneath them. He gauged her expression to see how she took it. True to Rachel's way, her expression remained neutral. The little he read was less about his digs and more about expectations. When their eyes met, she nodded her head in invitation for him to join her. He set his Stetson on the dresser. The keys clanged on the hard wood beside the hat. A bottle of bourbon rested on the nightstand. He opted to ignore the liquor for now.

 

Raylan nudged her shoulder when he reached her. "You okay?"

 

She shrugged. "I'm not some fragile little flower. I can take care of myself."

 

"Never thought otherwise."

 

She cocked an eyebrow. Her dark eyes glowed with disbelief.

 

He raised a hand in defense. "I know you're capable."

 

"So why the John Wayne move?"

 

"John Wayne?" he muttered under his breath.

 

"You know what I mean." She tilted her head to look up at him. "You went in 100%."

 

"Not even halfway." He frowned remembering. "Shoulda punched him."

 

"What? I was talking about in the bar just now."

 

"Oh," he murmured, slowly nodding. "Well, that…"

 

She turned back toward the window and the darkness outside. "Punching Joe wouldn't have solved anything."

 

"Maybe not."

 

She sighed. "You don't know him. He's not the man who showed up at my Mama's place."

 

"Is he the same guy who's been blowing up your phone?" Raylan asked.

 

"Who taught you that phrase?"

 

"I hear things." He gazed down at the vision she created. How many times had they stood side by side? The desire to touch her wasn't new. She wore her femininity different from the other women he usually pursued or who pursued him. Yet, that did not lessen her appeal one bit. Despite her attempts to be a hardened long arm of the law, she was soft in all the right places and smelled just as sweet. From this view, he could appreciate how her hair curled against her neck and remembered how the strands caressed the back of his hand.

 

"This could be a bad mistake," she said.

 

"He was out of control. You can't believe for one sec—"

 

"Not Joe," she cut in, turning to face him. "Me. Us. Me being here with you."

 

"You've been in my room before." He laughed, trying to make light of it.

 

"Not like this."

 

He tried to read her. He'd seen her cocky and self-assured. On the transport, her vulnerability slipped through several times and that intrigued him. Right now, he sensed something that surprised him—fear. Of him.

 

"What are you thinking?" He blurted the words before he paused to consider them.

 

"I don't want to be another notch."

 

"Is that what you think of me?"

 

Rachel didn't answer. Instead, her gaze darted around the room. Perhaps she was remembering the first time she saw it. Lindsey had tossed his belongings aside like they were nothing in her haste to steal his savings. Back then, he should have realized that a room over a bar wasn't a home, but he was too determined to get his money back and patch together the pieces of his pride. Since Lindsey, this room and his bed hadn't born witness to another woman. Rachel was the first in a long while and with that only one thing came to mind.

 

"I want to do this right," he said.

 

She started to step away from him, but he caught her hand. "I'm serious," he said. "We've been dancing around each other for a long time. Even before the transport detail. I ignored it. Not anymore."

 

"Are you always this straightforward?"

 

He smiled. "Not always."

 

"I should say something."

 

"Denying would be a lie, so anything other than denial would be good," he said.

 

Rachel slipped her fingers between his and squeezed gently. "I'm usually straightforward."

 

"Very much so."

 

She shook her head. "This thing with Joe…"

 

"We're not talking about him. Yet. What do you want, Rachel?"

 

"I…I…"

 

He cupped her face, tilting her head so that she looked at him. "Do you want me?"

 

She nodded.

 

R&R

 

The confines of a safe house felt different this time, Darla mused. The quiet suburban neighborhood in Los Angeles had appealed to her eclectic taste. She enjoyed the architecture which was so different than what she'd grown up with in Memphis. The regret about not attending college was never far from her mind, but while in LA, she indulged in a couple of classes at Santa Monica College. The proximity to the Pacific Ocean was an irresistible temptation. Long walks on the boardwalk after class were a favorite pastime to help her forget Nik, the bombing, and everything she'd lost even if the amnesia was just for a little while.

 

This house, nestled in the Lexington suburb, reminded her of the "home" she left in LA. The perfect yards and expensive cars were frames for the ideal American families tucked safely inside. How she longed to have made different choices long ago. She used to sing about the suddenness of falling in love and how it tripped up a person. The fact didn't hit her until Nik came into her life. What decisions would she have made if he had never entered the club and they never met? Would she have found another Mr. Right and shared her life with him in a home like this? Would Nik still be alive?

 

Sometimes, Darla hated the quiet that allowed her thoughts to drift and the painful questions to sneak in. The past couldn't be recreated. What was done was done. But if she could get just one do over…

 

A faint knock sounded at the bedroom door before Tim poked his head in. "Sleep?"

 

She beckoned for him to come inside. He had left after their earlier talk to give the appearance of professionalism to his fellow Deputy Marshals. She supposed he had given them enough face time. His presence had been missed. She couldn't stop the smile when he presented bags of food and a six pack of cold Diet Coke.

 

They dined in the middle of the queen-sized bed. Aromas made her mouth water. Her appetite was restored upon the sight of crispy fried chicken, steaming collard greens, moist cornbread, and tangy potato salad.

 

"How did you know?" she asked, reaching for a wing. "This looks as good as Gus'."

 

"Who's Gus?" A slight frown marred his otherwise smooth, perfect forehead. Tim held a drumstick, but he paused before he took a bite.

 

"A fried chicken joint in Memphis," she answered. "They're several actually. The best fried chicken with just enough kick to make it interesting." She tore into the drumette. "Hmm…this is good. What are the other guys eating?"

 

"They wanted pizza."

 

She nodded. "You?"

 

"I live off pizza most days. Wanted something better tonight."

 

"I didn't take you for a Diet Coke guy."

 

"I'm not." He pulled a Mello Yello from his jacket.

 

She made a gagging gesture.

 

He chuckled. "It's an acquired taste."

 

Conversation danced around the sounds of chewing, swallowing, and gulping. The noises were companionable to Darla's ears. If Tim was disgusted by her gluttony, he didn't show it. She hadn't thought about food since the last time she'd eaten with him. That had been Mexican, right? Was it only yesterday? After everything that'd happened, it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Her thoughts had gotten jumbled. Of course they had eaten since then, but she couldn't remember.

 

"You're frowning. Something wrong?" he asked.

 

Darla shook her head. She grabbed a wad of napkins and wiped her mouth. Appetite gone, she closed her Styrofoam plate and slid back against the pillows.

 

"You're not a good liar."

 

"Makes for an excellent witness."

 

"Never doubted it," he replied. He gathered the remaining food and set it on the dresser. When he returned, he sat on the bed at a reasonable distance. Not too far away, but his position was decidedly discreet.

 

An overwhelming urge to close the space hit Darla. She pushed the need aside, but doing so was difficult. Tim Gutterson was the kind of guy she wished she had met before Nik Cassalotti came into her life.

 

"Stop thinking," she mumbled under her breath.

 

"What?" He slid closer. "You okay?"

 

She shook her head. Tears threatened to fall. She blinked to keep them at bay. Instead, she sighed and clenched her hands together.

 

"What's wrong?" Tim seemed hesitant about touching her. His mouth tightened. Curses tumbled out as he stormed to the door. Faster than Darla could process his movements, he locked the door and returned to her, sitting closer than he had before with his hand on hers. "Talk to me."

 

"What if they come—"

 

"They won't," he said brusquely. "Are you upset about the phone?"

 

He jutted his chin toward the cellphone on the nightstand. The phone was disposable and unapproved. Tim had given it to her earlier. His, Rachel, and Raylan's numbers were programmed in as contacts. She'd downloaded games, but they had failed to hold her attention when the quiet led to her thoughts taking over. His gift was against regulations and she appreciated it immensely.

 

"No, but I don't want you to get in trouble."

 

He shrugged. "If it's not the phone, what is it? You look…tortured. They tell me that holding stuff in doesn't make it better and it doesn't help in the long run."

 

"Who is "they"?"

 

"Therapists."

 

"Marshals have to talk to shrinks? I didn't know that."

 

"Not Marshals."

 

She noted the hardness of his profile. His blue eyes had become dark like midnight. "For when you were in service?"

 

Tim nodded.

 

"Want to talk about it?"

 

He smiled and the hardness went away. "I asked you first."

 

"I made dumb decisions."

 

"Everybody does. It's called life."

 

"You had to kill someone because of me—"

 

"Not because of you," he said. "You didn't put the gun in his hand. He came after us. That was his decision."

 

"But…" She looked down at where his hand rested on hers. Tim's strength was quiet, reserved. She felt it on the trip and the numerous times he held and comforted her. She felt it now. If only she could crawl into it and snuggle there.

 

"You're doing it again."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"You go faraway and then you look guilty."

 

"You're too observant, Deputy Gutterson."

 

"I wish I was a mind reader."

 

She laughed. "I'm glad you're not!"

 

With the chuckle still rocking her, he bent forward. His mouth claimed hers with surprising softness. Insistent swipes of his tongue parted her lips and made her moan low in her throat. Just as Darla found herself succumbing, he pulled away, ending the kiss. She grumbled in protest and received a lingering peck on her bottom lip.

 

"Whew."

 

He caressed her mouth with more slow kisses. Darla dimly noticed that no alarming bells sounded in the back of her mind like they had before with Nik. Then Tim crushed her to his chest as he lowered them to the bed and all thoughts faded. Her senses took over. The sweetness of Mello Yello lingered on his lips, melding with his unique taste, as he possessed her with slow, deep kisses. His hands, strong and lean, stroked her sides with unexpected tenderness. This time when the kiss ended, she cupped his face. His stare was unreadable, but his physical reaction was easy to define.

 

Their breathing was heavy and loud in the otherwise quiet room. She searched for words, but none came. One of them should say something. But _he_ had kissed _her_. Twice. _Damn_ , Darla thought, _I'm so bad at this_. She wanted him. The little crush had escalated and she was at a loss as to what to do. The timing was horribly off. But he was making her feel more than she had in quite a while.

 

R&R

 

"If you slap me, I wouldn't hold it against you."

 

Tim had been watching Darla, trying hard to gauge her response. Sure, she kissed him back and if her dilated pupils were any indication, she was as aroused as he. But was she okay with him making that move? He hadn't had a girlfriend in God knew how long. Relationships had always been weird for him. After Afghanistan, things hadn't gotten easier. He could kill without hesitation, but committing to another person scared the hell out of him.

 

"That's the last thing on my mind," she said finally.

 

He pressed his hand against hers as she caressed his face. She was fragile. He'd read her file. The bomb had been quite destructive. She would have more than physical scars. He understood that. His time in therapy, brief as it was, had taught him enough. The bruises and welts were superficial. The emotional shit was the killer. It was the shit that had him falling asleep with his arms wrapped around an empty bottle of JD instead of a beautiful woman. It was the crap that had him keep a special bullet ready just in case he ever changed his mind about waking up to another day.

 

"Do you want me to slap you?" she asked when the quiet lengthened.

 

"No."

 

Darla became still. "You could… _say_ something."

 

Tim looked at the locked door and shook his head. Still, that wasn't enough to clear his thoughts. His erection was just as eager as it had been minutes ago. Her lower body had swayed against his during the kisses and hadn't let up since it ended. The silent invitation was a powerful temptation.

 

"Tim?" When he didn't respond fast enough, she started to pull away.

 

"Don't."

 

He rolled onto his back and settled her on top of him. His hands rested low on her waist right near the rise of her backside. The new position wasn't any better on his manhood or his willpower than the last, but he couldn't stand the idea of her moving from him. If she believed he didn't want her, he needed to prove her wrong.

 

"Maybe I shouldn't have kissed you."

 

"You wish you hadn't?"

 

He frowned. "I didn't say that."

 

"What are you saying?" she asked. Her beautiful face was marred with uncertainty.

 

"Not much of anything apparently."

 

She shifted again to leave him, but he held firm. A flash of anger brightened her expression. He found himself enjoying that moment.

 

"You like confusing me!"

 

"No." He bit back a smile as she punched his arm. "I don't! Come on."

 

"It's not funny."

 

"You're mad 'cause you're frustrated," he said, trying to sound serious.

 

"Aren't you?"

 

"Not the way you'd think."

 

"Talk to me," she demanded. "Talk or…"

 

"Or?"

 

She frowned. "Nothing. Nevermind."

 

"We can't. You're a witness—"

 

"You want me," she said. "Do you deny it?"

 

"I can't."

 

"Then…"

 

"You deserve better than a hurried lay. Worried if someone turns on the knob and finds the door locked," Tim said. "The man who makes love to you should take his time. Go slow. Be thorough. Not be concerned about who's listening."

 

"I don't care who's listening."

 

"I do," he said. "Darla…It's been a while for me."

 

"Me too," she admitted shyly. "The first time can be fast."

 

He felt the heat burning his face. Yet, the idea had strong appeal. "You wouldn't mind?"

 

She giggled. "Are we really negotiating…this?"

 

"Sounds like it." He laughed. "We shouldn't. No, we're not. We can't."

 

"You want to." She shifted her hips for emphasis.

 

Tim relaxed against the pillows and really looked at Darla. She was hungry for him, but the wildness was receding. Now, she was playful, teasing. The brakes were set for both of them. He used the job as his reason for hesitation. Later, he might have regrets. For now, the delay felt justified. She should be loved slowly, thoroughly. If he was the man to do it, that's how he aimed to prove his words. A quickie wouldn't be enough with her. He wanted— _no_ —needed to take his time. With Smith and Jones just a staircase away, he couldn't do it. Not yet.

 

R&R

 

The transition from the window to the bed happened in way that Rachel would ponder for years to come. The decision that she'd sleep over came by silent omission. Raylan left to grab their dinner of chicken tenders, fries, and beer from the bar below. In his absence, Rachel changed into one of his t-shirts and snuggled under the covers to wait. All the while, her mind turned. This could be the worst move of her life, but on the other hand, nothing ventured nothing gained. Raylan's asking if she wanted him didn't necessarily mean that the night would lead to them exchanging bodily fluids. She could keep her wits about her. Right?

 

The outer door opened. His boots thudded along the hardwood floor. The aroma of fried food wafted through the small space. Rachel inhaled a deep breath as she leaned into the pillows, tugging the covers close around her. Raylan paused in the doorway as their gazes locked.

 

A faint smile worked at his delectable mouth. His brown eyes lit up with mischief, but to his credit, he kept a lid on any smart ass comments that came to mind. He set their dinners and beers on the nightstand. As he disappeared into the bathroom, he said, "There's a change to our order."

 

"Yeah?" Rachel crawled from under the covers to pull the Styrofoam plates closer. At that moment, Raylan looked out from the bathroom and grinned.

 

The t-shirt barely covered her rear and her panties left little to the imagination. In a flash, Rachel returned to the safety of the sheets and comforter and fixed him with a glare. Raylan's laughter echoed in the room as he went back to the bathroom. She heard the rush of water as he started the shower. For a moment, Rachel entertained the vision of a naked Raylan standing under the steady spray of hot water. The fantasy image was pushed away and replaced with the real vision of shrimp nachos with an extra serving of sour cream and salsa. She had just snagged a nacho when he returned to the room, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. His wet, dark hair lay flat against his well-shaped head. He joined her on the bed and reached into her plate.

 

"Can't believe you started without me."

 

"You didn't ask me to wait."

 

"It was implied," he said.

 

"Who showers in two minutes?"

 

"I do. Good thing or else I wouldn't have dinner." He reached for a beer. "Want one?"

 

"Not yet." She was too hungry to waste time drinking. Besides, the nachos were the best she'd had in a long time. The bar used flour tortillas instead of corn. She could eat these all day.

 

"Slow down there, tiger." Raylan laughed as he watched her eat.

 

"Don't be rude."

 

"Me? Could you share?"

 

"You have your own plate."

 

"Who's to say that one's not mine and this one is yours?" He set the other Styrofoam plate between them on the bed. "Maybe the shrimp is mine."

 

Rachel couldn't summon the energy to feel guilty. Besides, she didn't trust that he wasn't teasing her. "Too bad."

 

He spat out the beer he had just swallowed amidst a loud chuckle.  

 

Watching him, Rachel had a hard time chewing the rest of the nacho, but she forced herself to get it down. Her earlier assessment that he had danger all over him was never far from her mind. She couldn't help but recognize those qualities. The chocolate brown eyes, the sexy mole, the drawl, and the way his eyes lit up for various reasons were enough to draw her in the first few weeks of working with him. She'd told him often enough that he was a good looking man. Hell, that was an understatement. Her woman parts reacted to him in ways she didn't want to acknowledge.

 

Did she want him? Hell, yes.

 

But was it wise?

 

While she ruminated, he had set his beer on the nightstand. She felt him watching her and she hoped there would be no further interrogations. He was damn good at it, but she was equally capable at dodging questions that probed too deep. Her staying over, and in his bed no less, should be enough. Yet, knowing Raylan…

 

"If you think for one second—"

 

"What?" she asked, cutting him off. Heat reddened his cheeks. He'd gotten himself worked up and she had no idea how that had come about. At least she could scratch mind reader off the list.

 

"You're here." He nodded once at the bed. "Ain't no reason to leave."

 

"Who said I was going anywhere?"

 

He frowned. "You had this…look."

 

"I'm just eating nachos."

 

His frown contorted as his eyes narrowed. He flipped the Styrofoam plate closed and set both plates far out of her reach onto the chair on the other side of his night stand. The mattress dipped with his weight and then righted itself when he sat down again.

 

"I was eating—"

 

"Right," he said. "You're so pretty with that little sweet, innocent thing you do, but you weren't just eating. You were plotting."

 

"I don't plot." Rachel found herself getting more tickled the more worked up he got. Usually, it was the other way around. She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

 

"What?" he asked. "You have that look again."

 

She shrugged.

 

Just then, his phone buzzed. He'd left it on the dresser. His gaze drifted between her and the phone and Rachel decided for him.

 

"Answer it."

 

"Don't go anywhere," he barked.

 

As he left the bed to storm to the dresser, she asked sweetly, "Dressed like this?"

 

His eyes narrowed even more, but the expression had shifted. Gone was his sermon. He had other thoughts on his mind. The look he flashed her reminded her of the lust on his face when she told him that she had the same panties as the ones they found in the home of Sheriff Shelby Parlow aka Drew Thompson. Raylan called them whore's panties because they belonged to Ellen Mae. She wondered if his description changed because she also owned a pair. Even more, she wondered what possessed her to tell him.

 

By now, he'd stepped into the bathroom to take the call. She listened to his muffled tones and just from the rumble of his voice, she guessed that Art was on the other end. Appetite gone and still convinced that she'd rather stay than leave, she looked around the room for source of amusement while she waited for Raylan's return. For all she knew, Art would call her next and off they'd go on a case. Or maybe Raylan would leave and she'd be stuck there alone. She wasn't quite ready to think about what would happen if he stayed. The possibility of exchanging bodily fluids skirted on the edge of her thoughts, but she wasn't ready to take hold of it, just yet.

 

In her quest for distraction, her gaze settled on his Stetson. The iconic white hat rested on the dresser close to where his cell phone had been. Unable to resist, she left the bed and made a beeline for the hat. On one of their details, he let her wear it. The hat was made for his head and had felt strange on hers. But wearing something that was so dear to him had warmed her and since he let her do it… She hadn't let herself think much of it then, but she didn't imagine Raylan allowed too many to trifle with his Stetson. That moment between them was uncommon. Something was happening even back then.

 

Rachel slipped the Stetson on and used the glass from the _Tombstone_ movie poster frame as a mirror. She studied her reflection, what little she could see of herself. His t-shirt—of course, her nipples were embarrassingly hard—and a scrap of panties that barely covered her completed the look. _Deputy U.S. Marshal Rachel Brooks_ , she thought.

 

"Now, that's a sight." Raylan's voice was a near growl. He leaned back against the doorjamb of the bathroom. His eyes gleamed with appreciation.

 

She lifted the hat from her head and twirled it on her index finger. "Why a Stetson?"

 

"Why not?" He turned off the bathroom light. Now, only the lamp on the nightstand casted a dim glow in the room. A half smile curved his mouth as he took the hat and set it back on the dresser. They stood facing each other. He then reached for her hand.

 

He hesitated. "Sure about this?"

 

"We're just sleeping," she said.

 

"Just," he murmured.

 

Raylan pulled her into the bed. Fingers entwined, they lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. Rachel wondered whose heart was pounding louder, hers or his.

 

"What did Art want?" she asked.

 

He chuckled once. "He…um…wants us back on Darla's case. Tim's with her tonight."

 

"Is he?"

 

"Yeah, but…" Raylan released her hand and rolled onto his side. "We need to talk." He ran an index finger across her brows. "Let me in."

 

"How many times have I said that to you?" She shifted to face him, lying in bed together made it easier to see him eye to eye.

 

"Too many to count," he replied.

 

"I've never seen Joe like he was today. He's never been so angry."

 

"But he gets angry."

 

"Who doesn't?" she asked.

 

"He ever hit you?"

 

Rachel had a quick retort ready, but she held the words in when she noticed his face. The hurt and the history behind the question. This time she reached out and touched him. She traced the lines, the curve of his mouth, and felt the softness of his whiskers. "Never."

 

He looked torn. "I don't want your pity."

 

"I don't want yours either." Her fingers paused at his jawline.

 

"You're not in my bed 'cause of pity!"

 

"Why am I in your bed?"

 

"You know why," Raylan said.

 

Rachel drew in a deep breath. She would have looked away, but she wasn't that kind of woman. Challenges were always met head on. "No, not really."

 

"I want you." He stared at her. "That makes you frown?"

 

"You haven't…made a move. I'm half naked and you haven't…"

 

"I want more than sex, Rachel."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Hello, new readers and old readers, too! *g* Thanks for reading, following, commenting, and leaving kudos. Everything is appreciated. I'm sorry I haven't had time to respond to feedback, but please know that I read your comments and thank you for them. I asked for some guidance for this chapter and the responses helped tremendously. Actually, one comment had me convinced that I knew who was gonna do what, but when I started typing, the characters proved me wrong! Sometimes, the characters have other ideas in mind, but after this lengthy chapter (SORRY!!!!), I have a strong feeling that one of these couples is readier than the other. I won't say which just in case said couple decides to pull a bait and switch once I start typing. Lol Anyway, I hoped you loved the season finale as much as I did. WOW! Season 6 will be amazing and it looks like Rachel and Tim may finally get significant screentime. Fingers crossed. I won't go into details and reveal spoilers. I will say that the final episodes of season 5 were worth the wait. Wonderful stuff! As always, thanks for reading and if you have any suggestions feel free to share. J]


	13. Don't Disturb This Groove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After passion flares, multiple disclosures lead to different consequences for the couples.

Chapter 13: Don't Disturb This Groove

 

Darla walked Tim to the locked bedroom door. She enjoyed the firm grip of his fingers laced with hers. He didn't hold her as a possession. There was a sense of protection, but also a connection that was growing deeper the longer they spent time together.

 

They reached the door and he placed his hand on the knob. Neither moved. The time alone had been a rare treat. The other agents hadn't intruded, but she knew that the longer Tim stayed away the greater the risk of being discovered. She placed a hand on his chest and gave him a playful push.

 

"You'd better go."

 

He grinned. Then his expression softened. In the next moment, his lips were on hers in a soft, gentle kiss. As the others before, passion flared like a swift wildfire. Restraint from both was required to pull away. When they parted, Tim rested his forehead against hers. Their heavy breathing sounded loud in the otherwise quiet room.

 

"I need a very, very cold shower. The coldest," he said in a gruff voice.

 

She only nodded in response, too busy catching her breath to speak.

 

He caressed her bottom lip with a swipe of his thumb. "You, too."

 

Darla met his hungry stare and smiled. "Me, too."

 

He left soon after. She leaned against the door with her eyes closed, savoring her emotions. She hadn't felt like this with Nik. Everything with him had been fast, erratic, crazy. Tim was slow, careful, deliberate. She never realized how erotic feeling safe could be.

 

Once her breathing returned to normal, she took his advice and showered. The cold water removed her need for sexual fulfillment. After she dressed, curiosity snuck in. The safehouse was unlike the one in Los Angeles. She'd called Kentucky home during her years with Nik. A safe house would never be a true home, but she couldn't resist knowing the layout and seeing what else was there. Her room was spacious, but she didn't want to be trapped in it while she waited for trial. Maybe there was an exercise room or a pool. She'd loved a state of the art kitchen. She could surprise Tim with her cooking skills.

 

The two-story house wasn't unique. The design was typical of most suburban homes. She supposed they kept it simple so that the witnesses didn't get any ideas about squatting. The living room had a stone fireplace with a huge flat panel TV over the mantel. The sofa appeared plush enough. As she rounded the wall of books, she paused at the sound of voices. From her position, she heard the clink of glasses and the smell of old pizza. She guessed that the other agents and the kitchen were nearby. She almost joined them when she heard them mention Tim. Their unflattering tone made her pause and listen.

 

"It's only a matter of time," a male voice said. "He's gonna pop."

 

"PTSD is the shit. Serious shit, but he served his country, Jonesy," Smith said. "You gotta give him that."

 

"Yeah, and that thing that went down with Drew Thompson…"

 

"What about it?" Smith asked.

 

"That caravan business. He figured that shit out pronto," Jones said.

 

"Still."

 

"Yeah, you never know," Smith said. "Any kind of trigger can do it. He's a helluva shot, but he's a bomb waiting to go off."

 

"Like Givens," Jones said with a laugh.

 

"Givens' just a cowboy," Smith said. "Gutterson's something else."

 

Darla backed into the hallway. She heard enough and didn't want to hear anymore. Once she reached the staircase, she quickly ascended to the landing. At the top, she ran straight into Tim. His sudden appearance startled her.

 

"What's wrong?" He grasped her upper arms. "You look spooked."

 

She shook her head and pulled free of him. "I'm fine."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yeah."

 

His eyes narrowed. He moved toward her and she sidestepped him.

 

"I'm okay," she said. Then she went into her room and closed the door.

 

R&R

 

_"I want you." He stared at her. "That makes you frown?"_

_"You haven't…made a move. I'm half naked and you haven't…"_

_"I want more than sex, Rachel."_

 

Rachel had convinced herself that she could handle anything, but Raylan's confession threw her. On most days, Raylan held himself closed off, aloof from everything and everyone. Now as they lay on his bed, facing each other, she stared into his brown eyes and he was staring back at her. His expression was bare. He wasn't withholding anything. His words were his truth. If he had simply wanted sex, they both knew that could have happened long ago. Something deeper had brought them to this moment. It wasn't Joe or the shared cases or his personal dramas. There was more.

 

He rose onto his elbow and just as swiftly bent forward to press his lips against hers. The kiss began as a slow, tentative question, but when Rachel leaned in, the answer was given. He cupped the back of her head, angling her just so. She slid her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. The silky tendrils were still damp from his shower. As the kiss deepened and his tongue sought hers, she grabbed hold of his hair. He emitted a low growl, but he never once moved his mouth from hers.

 

Somehow, Rachel landed on her back, thighs wide with Raylan on top. His hardening erection was insistent as it pressed that special spot between her thighs. She arched against him, wanting more. His kisses moved to her cheek down her neck and to her collarbone. His hand at her breast made her moan aloud.

 

"Rachel," he whispered as he slowly moved to rest on his elbows and hovered over her.

 

Focus took its sweet time. Despite the barrier of her panties and his pajama bottoms, his cock still rubbed against her just right. She wanted more, but the little voice of reason forced her to grab his upper arms and take a good look at him.

 

Desire stared straight back at her. Their want was mutual. On instinct, she shifted her hips. His eyes blazed with accusation and need.

 

"You'll hate me—"

 

Her ringing cell phone cut him off. He kissed her forehead before rolling away and laying on his back.

 

"Answer it," he said.

 

"I don't want to," she argued.

 

"Please." He rubbed his hand over his face. "Please, Rachel."

 

She turned to get her phone from the nightstand on her side of the bed. Joe's name and face stared back at her. She muttered a stream of curses. Her husband would choose this moment to call. She pushed ignore and set the phone face down on the nightstand.

 

"Who was it?" Raylan asked.

 

"Nobody."

 

She left the bed. Her clothes were on a chair by the window. She grabbed them and started dressing. Raylan's stare bored into her back.

 

"Please don't," he said.

 

"I-I…" Words failed her. With her shirt unbuttoned and her jeans undone, she sunk onto the bed. She kept her back to him, afraid of what his eyes would reveal. Afraid what her eyes would confess about her.

 

"I'll be good," he added.

 

They both released a slight laugh.

 

"Really," Raylan said. "Believe me."

 

Rachel sighed. That tone was the one that always drew her in. Whenever they were assigned together, he'd do something shaky or have a mind to and either the tone or the look in his eyes would have her along for the ride. She inhaled another deep breath as the realization sunk in. She was exactly where she promised herself she'd never be. In Raylan Givens' bed. Somehow she had always known how good it would feel. How impossible it would be to resist.

 

R&R

 

Sleep took its time. Raylan found succumbing to slumber difficult with Rachel in bed beside him. He ached to touch her, burned to pull her soft body against his. But he promised to be good. When he finally slept, dreams of her tormented him. They were working cases. They were making love. They were arguing. They were happy. The stories never reached full conclusion. When he awakened, he was relieved to find her still there.

 

Morning was still hours away. After their detail, he should still be asleep but he was wired. Remembering to honor his words, he rolled onto his side and kept his hands to himself. She lay facing him. An expression of exquisite serenity made her even more stunning than usual.

 

He pondered how innocent she appeared when her defenses were down. Her youthfulness had captured his attention years ago. Their age difference should make him feel like a lecherous bastard, but her wisdom bridged the gap that the birth years created. Still, he had a past. Would what he wanted for them taint her? Damn, he hadn't wanted a woman half as much in a long time. Not even Lindsey. That had been play. Later, his ego had stepped in and made him go on a tear. This thing with Rachel tinged on commitment and threatened the need for a label.

 

But maybe he was being selfish. She was so young. What did he have to offer, but a quick draw and a jaded past? He made the move to leave the bed when she began to stir. Her big brown eyes fluttered open and he couldn't move. She caught him staring. Raylan held still, waiting for the tongue-lashing. None came. Instead, she traced his brows with light caresses.

 

"Go to sleep," she said.

 

He brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss. With their hands loosely intertwined, he closed his eyes and obeyed her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: It's been a long summer, and I truly appreciate your patience and continued interest in the story. Future chapters may be shorter like this one, but I hope to keep writing on more consistent basis. I have a couple of projects that rightfully demand my attention, but once I get those settled, I'll resume a regular writing schedule with this and my other fics. Please let me know if you're still reading or if you just started. Your feedback is treasured even when I'm not always able to respond. Chapter 14 will have a bit more action…not sure if it will be of the passionate kind, but we'll see. As always, thanks for reading!]


	14. Like a Bat out of Hell

Chapter 14: Like a Bat out of Hell

 

Tim checked windows and doors more than he needed. He would have walked the perimeter of the house if doing so wouldn't appear conspicuous. The point of a safehouse was that it blended in with the neighborhood. Skulking around the house made him look suspicious regardless his good intentions. Despite the unease bubbling in his gut, Tim remained indoors and began another round of keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of place.

 

He guessed that maybe part of his dogged persistence stemmed from the wildness in Darla's eyes when they met on the staircase. Gone was the unrestrained desire. She denied being spooked, but something had shaken her. He doubted if anyone else had contacted her by phone. Only he had the number to the new one he'd given her. After she vanished inside her bedroom, he'd gone in search of Smith and Jones. He found the Marshals chatting over pizza. They were arguing over which brother was the better athlete, Eli or Peyton. Neither had talked to Darla so he left. That's when his marathon inspection began.

 

On the darker side of midnight, Tim still hadn't shaken the feeling that something was off. He returned to the kitchen. Smith mumbled something into his cell phone and then shoved the device into his pocket.

 

"Mullins," Smith said.

 

Tim nodded, but he wasn't sure if he believed that was Art on the other end. He asked, "Where's Jones?"

 

Smith's eyes narrowed. The movement was slight, but Tim recognized the tell. The answer to his unease had just revealed itself. He drew his handgun as Smith pulled his.

 

"Don't," Tim said.

 

"What?" Smith said. "They'll just think you finally snapped. You killed Jones and the girl. I'm a hero for taking you out."

 

"It won't go down that way."

 

"You're that sure of yourself?"

 

"Yeah." Tim pulled the trigger.

 

Smith anticipated the gunfire. He flipped the lights. Footsteps scattered across the floor. Tim knew the other Marshal could be anywhere so Darla became the priority. He took the staircase two steps at a time. When he reached her room, she was already dressed.

 

"What's happening?" she asked.

 

"We have to go." He grabbed her hand and led her down the back staircase.

 

"They found me?"

 

"Something like that," Tim said.

 

The staircase put them in a game room. There were no exterior doors. Tim tried a window that he'd locked an hour before. With the butt of his gun, he broke the glass and used his window to clear the sharp edges. The move should have tripped the silent alarm, but Tim didn't have time to wait for back up. He whispered, "Come on!"

 

Darla didn't hesitate. She took his extended hand. He crawled through first. Somewhere a dog barked, but that was the least of Tim's worries. He listened for footsteps and breathing that wasn't his or Darla's. He heard nothing. Tim took Darla's hands. She came through the window and landed with minimal assistance.

 

Not to draw attention to himself, he'd parked on the next block. Bullets whizzed by them as he led her into the cover of the neighbor's shrubbery. Smith's pounding footsteps followed. Screeching tears interrupted the quiet night. Tim refused to let that distract him. He'd studied the neighborhood before he joined them. He knew the best route to his car and he'd be damned if he didn't get Darla safely there. Her safety was his only priority. Nothing else mattered.

 

Once they reached the neighbor's patio, he paused to pull his Beretta M9 from his ankle holster. Tim pressed the 9mm into Darla's trembling hands. He closed both hands around hers and waited until the shaking ceased.

 

"I'm getting you out of here," he said.

 

Her brown eyes were round and wide as she stared at him. She hadn't said anything since he grabbed her from her room. Her fear was strong. Tim didn't fault her for it, but he couldn't help but admire her level head. Despite the terror clearly etched across her face, she hadn't balked or cowered to weakness. He couldn't risk her breaking now.

 

"Believe me?" he asked.

 

She nodded.

 

"Say it."

 

"B-believe you," she said. "I believe you, Tim."

 

Her hand steadied, and he released her. He nodded toward shrubbery on the other side of the in-ground pool. The overhanging branches from the trees that lined the border continued to shield their movements as they skulked the perimeter of the yard. An iron fence created a slight delay but Tim worked fast to hoist Darla to the other side.

 

Within seconds the whoosh of rapid gunfire whirled past his ears. Smith and whoever came to assist him were using silencers. Tim didn't want to return fire and give their assailants accurate info of their whereabouts. At this point, he figured the men were just guessing. Once he cleared the iron fence, he and Darla would have a straight path to his car.

 

He holstered his weapon and made his move. A lucky shot nailed him in his left shoulder just as he touched ground. The wound hurt like a sonuvabitch, but Tim didn't have time to surrender to pain. He readied his handgun and gestured for Darla to follow him. They cut through a front yard. Tim expected more gunfire and footsteps on their trail, but he didn't hear anything. When they reached his SUV, he tossed Darla the keys.

 

"Drive."

 

She unlocked the car, slid inside and followed his orders without question. Tim respected the natural instinct that guided her to put the vehicle in reverse instead of roaring out of the neighborhood. At the end of the block, she asked, "Which way?"

 

He gave her directions that put them on the interstate.

 

"Are we leaving Kentucky?"

 

"No," Tim said. "Just making it harder for them to find you. Did you bring the phone I gave you?"

 

"Yeah." She glanced at him. "Are you…? Were you hit?"

 

"Yep," he said. His handgun now rested in his lap. He'd begun to apply pressure to his shoulder. The pain was on the wrong side of unbearable.

 

"We have to go to the hospital."

 

"No," he bit out. "We stop and you're dead. We're not stopping. At least not yet. Keep driving."

 

"But you're bleeding, and you're so pale."

 

Tim laughed. "I'm always pale."

 

"You look like a ghost," Darla said. "Don't joke. It's not funny. You have to get help. Is there anybody we can trust?"

 

"Yeah, but you can't stop driving."

 

She gripped the steering wheel so tight that Tim feared she'd rip it out. "You can't die."

 

"I won't."

 

She shook her head. The passing streetlights afforded him a view of her face. Tears streaked her cheek.

 

Tim reached out to brush the swell of her cheek with the back of his hand, careful not to stain her face with his blood. "I'll be okay. I think it went through. This won't kill me."

 

She sniffled a few times as she nodded. "That sounds like a promise."

 

He hesitated for a moment. Other promises waged a battle to past from his lips. Then the silent warnings flared that moving too soon was dangerous. He was shot for goodness sakes! Not to mention her status as a witness. He pulled his hand away to continue putting pressure on his wound. The physical pain began to dull in comparison to the agony of confronting his emotions. Again. Walking away from her earlier had been one of the hardest calls ever, but one he didn't regret. Later, the uncertainty in her eyes as they crossed paths on the landing bothered him more than he wanted to admit so he'd buried himself in work. Good thing he had or he wouldn't have known the layout of the house. As the highway stretched before them once again, he longed for the skills to handle romantic entanglements with the skill he handled an automatic pistol. He wanted Darla, but at this point, he couldn't imagine not fucking this up.

 

R&R

 

Rachel discovered that fantasies could pale in comparison to reality. She'd never admit anything aloud and had a hard enough time acknowledging the truth herself, but she had wondered a time or two about Raylan, his bed, and the taste of his mouth on hers. She'd figured with his swagger, there had to be something behind that level of confidence. He couldn't gain that kind of arrogance just because he was damn good with a gun. His kisses and the fullness of his erection had left her damn near dizzy. If he hadn't pulled away, she wouldn't have. The bright light of morning should have shamed her with that knowledge, but she refused to be baited. Rachel Brooks wanted Raylan Givens and now she had to make peace with it.

 

At his insistence, he'd taken her back to her place. There was no way in hell she'd do the walk of shame at work despite how tame her night was in Raylan's bed. After their initial argument simmered and he won the battle, the ride had progressed in silence. Rachel wasn't pissed. Her brain was trying to process everything. She'd long been accused of being a head person and that much was true. Being attracted to Raylan was understandable. He was hot. The dark brown eyes, the sexy drawl, the stud walk. On a physical level, he was all that. Still, Rachel wasn't fool enough to lie to herself. Her attraction to Raylan went beyond his looks. He was a good man. He wasn't perfect. Hell no. But he was good.

 

"Mind if we stop for donuts?" Raylan asked.

 

She searched his face for the joke, but he was serious. She nodded. "Go ahead."

 

"Still sore at me?" He flipped the signal and moved into the left turn lane.

 

"About what?"

 

He shrugged. "Anything."

 

"If you're referring to your cave man tactics and your need to escort me to my home, then no. I'm not sore. Not too much anyway."

 

He guided the Lincoln into an easy turn that led them into the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. "Drive through?"

 

"Whatever you want," she said.

 

"I'm going in." He parked. "Don't leave without me."

 

She gave him a smile. "Wouldn't think of it."

 

He shook his head and laughed. She watched him disappear into the store with his trademark stride. Of course, the Stetson was balanced on his head, giving him even more of a cowboy appearance. Through the glass windows, she watched him charm the clerk as he made his selections. In the back of her mind, she thought of one who wasn't captivated by the Givens charm. Art would loose his shit if he caught wind of their… _relationship_ if that was the appropriate word. Their boss' preference was no secret. Rachel was the Golden Child, and she liked being in Art's good graces. He'd always been good to her. Fair, just, and good. She'd heard horror stories from other black female Marshals, but her time in the Lexington office with Art Mullins had been a dream. Disappointing him was not on her list, but neither was this thing with Raylan.

 

She released a loud sigh. The answers weren't easy no matter how she looked at it.

 

He returned to the car with a newspaper, a bakery box, and two coffees. She helped him place the coffees in the beverage holders. He settled the box on the rest between them and tossed the paper on the backseat.

 

"Starving?" She nodded at the box.

 

"I didn't get that many," he argued.

 

"A dozen?" she asked.

 

"Give or take."

 

His follow up grin made her laugh in spite of her resolve to scold him. He started the engine and had them pulling into her drive sooner than she wanted. Minutes later, he was comfortable at her dining room table with a plate of donuts and the steaming coffee. When she peeked at him, she found that the Real Estate section had stolen his attention.

She returned to her room to shower and dress in her usual jewel-toned blouse, slacks, and matching jacket. Raylan joined her, newspaper in hand, as she sat at her dressing table to apply her make-up.

 

"What's your opinion on condos?" he asked.

 

"Never thought much about them," she said. "Joe and I inherited this house from his grandfather. We remodeled it a few years ago."

 

"Would you want to live in a condo?" Raylan sat on the edge of her bed just behind her. His gaze locked on hers in the reflection of the mirror. His intense stare followed every move she made. "You don't need half that stuff."

 

"Thank you," she murmured, twisting the mascara closed. "I never thought about a condo. Joe will keep the house, of course. I don't know where I'm going after the divorce. I never thought about buying a condo."

 

"Do you prefer houses?"

 

Rachel frowned. His stare unnerved her. She caught him licking his lips while she applied her lipgloss and she had to blink. "Um…I don't know, Raylan. I don't like mowing, so maybe not. I like yards, though. Backyards for cookouts. But I don't like dealing with grass."

 

"Hmm…"

 

"I'm done." She'd brushed her hair into a ponytail and make-up was the last item on her list.

 

"Not quite."

 

"You need to pack your stuff now—"

 

"No, I can do it later."

 

Raylan was quiet for a moment. Then he gave her a hard look. "You're smarter than that."

 

"I can't get everything now. It's too much. Besides, we have to check in with Art. He's expecting us to take the morning shift."

 

"I'll talk to Art," Raylan said. "You start packing the essentials. Guys like Joe are unpredictable. Get everything that's important to you. Stuff he'd fuck up just because. You're not staying here anymore."

 

"Rayl-"

 

"I'm not arguing, and I'm not being a dick either. You said yourself he ain't acting the same," he said. "You're not staying over here like a sitting duck."

 

"Where do you propose I am staying?" she asked, not unwilling to admit he had a point. Staying another night in Joe's house was unwise. The time to move on had come. She was ready.

 

He grinned. "My bed has plenty of room."

 

"I can't—"

 

"We won't tell anybody," he said, his expression serious. "Nobody. And I'll sleep on the floor if it makes you feel better."

 

"Technically, I'm still married."

 

"In your heart, you're divorced," he answered. "Pack your bags."

 

Rachel both loved and hated the smug look on his face. She retrieved her luggage from the hall closet. Raylan called Art to check in. When he moved into the living room, she knew something was off. By the time he finished the call, she had filled the largest bag with paperwork, clothing, and shoes. The second smaller bag contained make-up, jewelry and a few framed photos. His drawn face made her hurry and close the zipper.

 

"Done?" he asked.

 

"Yeah," she said. "What's wrong?"

 

"Hell broke loose at the safehouse. Tim and Darla are missing. Jones is dead. Smith was shot."

 

"What does he say happened?" She shouldered the smaller bag. Raylan had already claimed the larger one and was leading them out. As they passed the dining room, she noticed that he'd taken care of the donuts, coffee, and newspaper. She locked up as they exited.

 

"Smith isn't talking. He's in a coma."

 

"Oh, shit," Rachel murmured.

 

Raylan put her bags in the trunk of his car. Once they were inside, he said, "The GPS on Tim's car and phone have been deactivated. He hasn't called in."

 

"We have to find them."

 

He nodded. "The scene looks like an ambush from the inside. Like Tim is the asshole, but we know he's not."

 

"Does Art?"

 

"Yeah, but without Tim…" Raylan sighed.

 

"He's protecting Darla," Rachel said. "He cares about her. I wish I knew where he'd take her."

 

"I think I do."

 

"Yeah?"

 

Raylan nodded. "Put your seatbelt on."

 

She followed his bidding. As he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, she touched his thigh. He quickly closed his hand over hers.

 

"We'll find him," he said with confidence. "I have an idea where he's headed."

 

"Where?"

 

"Somewhere close, but not obvious. He knows he'll need back up he can trust," Raylan said. "That's you, me, and Art, but Art can't get involved, yet. So that leaves us. He's taking her where he knows I'll look."

 

"Harlan County," Rachel said.

 

"Yeah, that'll be the place."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing, and leaving kudos! If you're new, welcome! If you've been reading a while. I appreciate your patience. You have no idea the challenges life has thrown at me lately, but writing fan fic has been an amazing relief. However, the semester starts tomorrow and I'm gonna have to fight for the time of writing fan fic. I hope to have another chapter up in a couple of weeks. Cross your fingers for me. As for the fic…well, there's a bit of action in this chapter, some romance, and some internal processing. For once, Raylan's the only one who knows what he wants and is certain about it. Everyone else is kinda coming to terms. The next chapter should be an eye opener for Darla/Tim and an introduction to some of Harlan County's finest residents. As always, feel free to share your thoughts. Hearing from you is inspiration!]


	15. Harlan County

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marshals head to familiar, but not necessarily friendly territory as they work to figure out the best way to protect Darla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, and leaving kudos. With the semester ending soon, I hope to update more frequently. But enough about me! I am excited that the final season of Justified is one month away and that the couples (in this fic) are in Harlan County. Due to other priorities, this chapter wasn't as long as I prefer, but it keeps the story moving. The next one should be lengthy like the previous ones. I'm debating the appearance of a certain Crowder, but I'm on the fence about it. For sure, one couple will share an intimate moment or two.]

Chapter 15: Harlan County

Raylan always felt a twinge when he crossed the invisible line into Harlan County. He didn't need to see the boundary to know that he was there. Even with Arlo dead, the place had a certain feel to it. He supposed it always would.

"Where do you think he'd take her?" Rachel asked. She balanced her cell phone on her thigh as she looked across the landscape. 

For a moment, their gazes locked. Raylan saw the tension crinkling the corners of her eyes. He squeezed her hand. "We could try my place, but he's smarter than that."

"Do you think he knows the county well enough to hide her anywhere else?" she asked.

He shrugged. "He's been here as much as you have. Maybe more. Where would you go?"

"First, I'm not sure I'd come here—"

"Ouch," he murmured.

She bit back a smile. "Second, the place is loaded with criminals who aren't too thrilled with our presence." 

"You think?" He rubbed his chin. "Hmm… That gives me an idea."

"Should I be worried?"

Raylan braked at the first stop sign in town. "You can trust me."

"Who said anything about trust?" She patted her cell phone. "I'm surprised he hasn't contacted either of us. Speaking of trust, Tim knows we're there for him. Aside from whatever cock battle you two have going on—"

"Cock battle?"

Rachel refused to be deterred. "You know what I'm talking about. The office isn't a black hole. My desk is beside yours. I see you and Tim."

He grinned. "How long have you been eyeballing me?"

"Shut up, Raylan."

He laughed. 

Even before noon, the traffic was limited. Raylan wondered where everyone bided their time now that the coal mines weren't the big employer they used to be and Mags Bennett made her killer deal with the big-time mining company. He glanced again at Rachel and wondered what she thought of his hometown and by extension, him. She had grown up in the big city. Things might have been different in Hendersonville. In Harlan County, ignorant assholes came out in full force when they saw her pretty face and dark skin. She handled it well. Most of the time he wanted to kick ass, but he held the urge in check. 

"I don't think he'd go to Crowder's," she said. "That's more your thing than his—"

"Hey!"

She laughed. "Just making sure you're paying attention."

"I'm listening," He headed to the Givens property. The acres were out of the way and would give him a minute to figure things out if Tim hadn't taken Darla there. "If you're done insulting me, keep going."

"That wasn't an insult."

"From my end it was." He guided the Lincoln past trailer parks and lonely neighborhoods. Finally, the road led them to the outskirts of the county. The familiar rise of the hill loomed ahead. He heard Rachel's surprise gasp. He glanced at her to find her eyes wide and staring at him. A faint smile curved her mouth. "Just a detour," he said.

"Right," she murmured.

Raylan parked near the trailer. Rachel exited the passenger side before he could open the door for her. Together, they strode up the steps and she waited quietly while he unlocked the front door. 

Not much had changed since he was last there. The holes in the walls were patched. Constable Bob's blood had been mopped up long ago. The screen door slammed shut behind them and he followed her into the living room. 

"So, are we waiting for him to contact us or what?" she asked from the window. 

Raylan watched her. All nonsense and capable. The beautiful, smart US Marshal who burst into flames in his arms. Tim and the witness were on his mind, but seeing Rachel there at the window made other thoughts take prominence. He wanted her. He ached for her all the time. Kissing, holding, and tasting her only made it worst. He set the Stetson on the table and went toward her.

"We can't start anything," she said, backing away from him.

"I hadn't said a word."

"You don't have to." The wall behind her and him in front boxed her in. She braced her hands against his chest. "Raylan. No."

"No?"

"Not now," she said. "We have to find them."

He covered her hands with his. "I know that."

"Art will kill you—"

He grinned. "I'm not scared of Art."

"Be scared of me," she said, her expression serious. "Respect me."

He frowned. "You know I do."

"Then back off," she said, "for now."

Raylan nodded and stepped back. "Fine. For now."

R&R

Darla had been scared before, but not like this. The Marshals' discussion about Tim and then the sudden escape made her freeze. She trusted Tim. From first sight, she recognized something in him that made her feel safe and she had to rely on that instinct. Since the explosion and losing Nik and everything else that mattered, her gut was all she had left. 

She followed his directions to Harlan County and was thankful that he had given them before he passed out again. As she neared the bridge, two armed men stepped out just as he told her they would. She braked and waited for Tim to rouse. He didn't move or make a sound. The men came closer and she grabbed the gun from Tim's lap and palmed it. By the time they reached the SUV, she had the window rolled down and had taken several deep breaths to calm her nerves.

"Yeah?" The taller black man with the shotgun stared hard. His companion waited further back but his attention to the passenger side was obvious. "What's your business?"

"We've come for help," she said, her voice strong and steady.

"We?"

"Me and my…friend," Darla answered. "He's hurt. He said we could find help here."

"Who is we?" the man asked.

"Um…"

"Tell him," Tim said, weak and hoarse. "Tell him what I told you. It's okay."

"We need to speak with Mr. Limehouse," she said. "Mr. Ellstin Limehouse is the one we talk to. He's the one who can help us."

The two men looked at each other, as if conferring. Tim reached out and took Darla's hand. 

"It's okay," he whispered. "Give me the gun."

"They'll hurt you."

"Not worse than I'm hurting now," he said. "Limehouse knows me. He may not like me, but he knows me. He won't hurt you."

"You don't know that." She watched the men as they moved to talk. One of them took out his cell phone. She gave Tim the gun and placed her hand on the ignition. "You said Raylan has a house here. We can go there. You can get some rest—"

"First place they'll look. No one will look here."

"What about Rachel and Raylan?"

"They're coming," Tim said. "Don't know when. What are they doing?"

"Talking on the phone. No, the main one is coming back."

"Mr. Limehouse said you can come," the man said, "but ain't no guarantees. He ain't for strangers taking over Noble's Holler."

"Thanks—"

"Don't be thanking me yet," the man cut in. "Wait and see what Mr. Limehouse has to say first."

He indicated for them to follow behind their pick up truck. Darla swallowed her misgivings and remembered that she trusted Tim. So far, he hadn't steered her wrong and she would not surrender to the idea that her luck was about to change now.

When they reached the holler, Tim had passed out again. The men had led them to a BBQ joint. Smoke drifted into the sky. The food smelled divine. Darla hadn't realized how hungry she was until the aroma of smoked pork assaulted her senses. She parked behind the men's truck and turned to Tim. He slowly awakened from her gentle nudges. 

"I'm fine, Darla. I've had worse." He smiled at her. To her surprise he fumbled with the door handle and exited the car. 

She hurried to join him on the other side. She put his arm around her while they waited for the men to return with Limehouse. 

"Well, so a Marshal got himself shot and come running to me for cover." A fiftysomething black man stepped from the joint. He wore a hat and an apron. He moved with authority. He looked from Darla to Tim and back again. "Y'all all about the sistas lately, huh?"

"She's in trouble," Tim said. "She needs protection."

"From the looks of it," Limehouse said, "she ain't the only one in trouble. Where'd the bullet get you?"

"Left shoulder," Tim said.

"Clean or it's still in there?"

"Clean," Tim said. "I'm fine. She needs protection—"

"Heard you the first time," Limehouse cut in. "I don't know why ya'll think I'm running a motel or some shit out here. Bringing trouble to my doorstep and a pretty brown girl like this one ain't nothing but trouble. What happened, whitebread? Her old man caught wind of you messing around his henhouse?"

"We can go somewhere else," Darla said. "I told you—"

"Hold your horses, pretty girl," Limehouse said. "Your man thinks you'll be safe here. Says you need protection."

"You'll be safe here," Tim said. "Trust me—"

"He wants you to trust him," Limehouse said. "I'll be shit. A white man wants a black woman to trust him. He's vouching for me on my property. Ain't that something y'all?"

"She doesn't know you," Tim said stiffly. "She knows me. If your answer is no, just say so. We'll go."

"You got shot taking care of her," Limehouse said.

Tim nodded.

"Her man do that to you?" Limehouse asked.

"No."

Limehouse stared and Darla returned his glare. She wasn't sure what caused his delay, but she was certain she didn't like it. Tim was hurt. At this point, the gunmen were the least of her worries. She wanted Tim to be well. Knowing that he had been hurt protecting her made all the memories of her last moments with Nik Cassalotti return and pushing them away took more energy than she had. More than anything, she wanted this moment done and this time in her life over. She wanted to be free of the past once and for all.

"Fine," Limehouse said. "Show 'em that back cabin. See to his wound. Bring 'em some food." 

Tim leaned on Darla as they followed Limehouse's men to the cabin. When they had moved several feet, the older man called out, "Marshal, consider this a favor and that you owe me."

"I know," Tim said. "I know."


	16. Reckoning

Discipline. The word was often used to describe Rachel and there were times when she was proud of the descriptor. She employed it to get through the hard moments in life such as, her father's death and then her sister's. Moving up the ranks in the Marshal Service. Pushing Raylan away when all she wanted to do was pull him close. Yeah, discipline meant a great deal to Rachel. 

As soon as her mind drifted to their earlier encounter at the window, he returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. Interest brightened his dark eyes, but his demeanor was wholly professional. Painstakingly so. She began to wonder which one of them would break first. Then her phone buzzed. Raylan waited with the coffee while she answered the call.

"Hello, Art."

"Rachel," he said in greeting. "The lab's confirmed that it's Tim's blood at the scene."

"Okay," she said. "What should we expect?"

"It was a good hit," Art said. "CS hasn't found shell casings, so we don't have an idea how bad it was."

"We'll find him," Rachel said, responding to the unspoken concern she heard.

"Where are you?"

She held Raylan's stare and said, "We have reason to believe that he'd come to Harlan County. There are places here he could hide."

"Raylan's?"

"No, he's not… We looked. He didn't go there."

"I'll send another team to assist," Art said.

The call ended soon after, and when Rachel relayed Art's final message, she wasn't surprised by Raylan's response.

"We don't need help," he said. "Not in Harlan. The more people nosing around, the better chance of the Cassalottis finding Darla."

Rachel frowned. "Our people are good."

"Harlan County is different," Raylan said. "Some of our people will never know how to navigate this place."

As she accepted a coffee mug from him, she tilted her head. "Am I one of those people?"

"C'mon, Rachel." Raylan shot her a grin. "You handle Harlan just fine."

She bit back a smile. Warmth flooded her insides and she tried to ignore it. Focusing on the case seemed the best option. "Has he contacted you? Text? Missed called? Anything?"

"Nothing." Raylan's mouth tightened. "Could be he's too injured, but my gut…says he's here."

Rachel shrugged. She trusted Raylan's instincts. Besides, she agreed with him. What better place to hide than Harlan County? Now, if only she could think like her co-worker.

"A while back, he was spending some time up here," Raylan said, "with the snake handler's sister."

"Cassie moved away," she said.

"So you knew about that," he said.

"There wasn't much to know." Rachel sipped and leaned against a table. "You know Tim's been here as much as I have."

"Yeah?"

"We've interacted with the same usual suspects—"

"I doubt if he'd go to Crowder," Raylan cut in.

"Not Crowder. There's another safe haven here, right?"

Raylan nodded. "Limehouse."

R&R

Tim watched from the bed as Darla accepted the bottles of whiskey and aspirin from Limehouse's man, Ty. She cradled both to her chest and pushed the door close with her elbow. When their gazes caught, he witnessed the struggle of her smile. 

"Hey," she said. "I thought you were sleep."

"You mean passed out again."

She frowned. "Yeah," she murmured. Darla set the new items on the nightstand beside the towels, needle, thread, lighter, alcohol, gauze, and cotton balls. "You sure about this?"

"Yep," he said. "It's just like sewing a button—"

"No," she said, "it's not. I'm pushing a needle through your—" She pressed her fist to her mouth. 

"C'mere." Tim said, gesturing with a nod for her to sit. The bed shifted under her weight and pain shot through his shoulder. He bit his lip and offered a tight smile. "Get the JD."

Darla grabbed the bottle and a handful of gauze. "I should wash my hands again."

"No," he said. "take a sip."

She gave him a hard look. "I hate whiskey."

The look on her face made him want to laugh. "It'll…help. Take the edge off."

"It tastes like…" Her mouth twisted. She set the gauze back on the stand. "For you." She took a sip and frowned. "Gah!"

"A sip won't do it, Darla."

"Fine." She drank several sips until Tim nodded his approval. She extended the bottle to him. "Your turn."

Drinking the whiskey was not nearly as intoxicating as the feel of her hand against the back of his neck or the heat of her gaze as she watched him. The following minutes passed with Tim speaking in low, clear tones. He gave Darla instructions for what to do in case he passed out again. He wanted her to be prepared. She nodded. Her responses came in hoarse whispers, but she did everything he told her. At the end, he was surprised that he remained awake, but he wasn't surprised by her ability to stitch him up. 

"I can get a mirror if you want to see," she offered. 

"Would you redo it if I complained?" he teased, watching her as she gathered the supplies inside the towel and moved them to the dresser.

"If it would aid in your healing—"

"I'm kidding," he said.

Face serious, she nodded. "Okay." She returned with bandage strips and tape. When she finished, she said, "Does that hurt?"

"I'm good—"

"Maybe you should take the aspirin now."

"Darla," Tim said, taking her hand, "I just need a day. I'll be all right."

She stared at their joined hands for several seconds, then she smiled. "I hope you're not just telling me that."

"Would I do that?"

She frowned.

"No!" he said. "Don't do that. Your smile is a wonder drug. I felt crazy ass healing happening when you smiled."

She shook her head, but her smile remained.

"You have a beautiful smile."

"You had too much whiskey," she said. "No more for you."

"I'm serious," Tim said, "and you don't smile enough, but I get it."

"Are you flirting with me, Marshal?" 

"If you have to ask, I must be doing something wrong," he mumbled with a pout.

She laughed. The sound was rich, hearty, and sexy as hell. With strength that he'd stored away just in case, Tim pulled Darla to him and kissed her. His stitches pulled and his wound hurt, but he didn't care.

R&R

"How did Noble's Hollow become a sanctuary?" 

Raylan's thoughts had been divided between getting to the holler and whether the car behind them had been tailing them, but he still managed to register Rachel's question. 

"There's always a guard on the bridge," he said. The road was just ahead, but he took a detour that put them in the direction in the old part of town. In a few miles, they'd run across the old Bennett store. Beside him, Rachel shifted. He sensed her frown before he glanced and saw it.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"That car—"

Her buzzing phone interrupted his explanation. She muttered a curse. "It's Joe."

At that, she turned and looked at the car that had made the turn behind them. "What the fuck is he doing?" she asked. "He must've put a tracking app on my phone. Shit!"

"Sonuvabitch!" Angered by all aspects of Joe's interference—impeding their search and the stress on Rachel, Raylan swerved off the road. To his surprise, the car continued down the road. "What the fuck?" 

Raylan guided the Lincoln back onto the road and gunned the accelerator. 

"Let him go," Rachel said. 

"What did he text?"

She shook her head. "We need to find Tim and Darla."

"The text, Rachel." Raylan gripped the steering wheel. The sedan in front of them was unremarkable, probably a rental or something Joe found at a used car lot. Joe's speed wavered. So far, Raylan hung back, but he hadn't given up the notion to force the bastard off the road and beat the shit out of him.

"It's nothing," she said. "Just words."

"You're dodging," Raylan said, "and it makes me think that going after him is the right thing—"

"He said it won't ever be over," she said. "He's just hurt."

"You can't be that naïve," Raylan said. "You're smarter than that. He's threatening you. Tracking you. Does he have access to your bank account?"

"No, Raylan," she snapped. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say that."

"You're acting like I can't handle this," she said. "I didn't ask you to get involved. If Art or anyone at the Service finds out…"

"That's what you're worried about?" he asked. "Dammit, Rachel. A nutcase ex is no reflection on you and how you do your job! Give us some credit."

She shook her head. "You have no idea."

"I can't let him go," Raylan said, pressing the accelerator as the car in front of them began to speed. "I just can't. I know the damage a man like him can do. It starts off with you thinking that you understand him and you can handle it. Then he gets into your head, making you believe that his bullshit is your fault and you deserve all the hell he's throwing at you. But none of that's true. He's out of control. He followed us across country. He knows about us—"

"Us?" she repeated.

"Us," Raylan stated firmly. "I'm not backing out of this. Are you?"

"You're giving me an ultimatum in the middle of a car chase?" she asked. "Raylan?"

"Rachel," he said. "My track record isn't clean. You have every right to think I'm a fucking mess, but I've always been straight with you."

"There's Winona," Rachel said. "She's having your baby."

"Winona's in Florida—"

"Not the right answer," she said.

"If you let me finish," he said. With a quick glance, he noted the strain at her mouth. "She's in Florida for a reason. We tried, but she and I don't work. I'll be a father to my child. I'll say it again, Rachel. I want you. No one else."

"He's slowing down." She unsnapped her holster. 

Raylan eased off the gas. The car pulled onto a gravel road that once led to the old Shaw farm. In less than a mile, the Shaw's road was washed out due to a bad flood and no nearby kin with money and political ties to fix it. Raylan continued to drop speed as he watched the sedan.

"What do you want, Rachel?" he asked quietly.

"You," she said, "but I can't have you fighting my battles. I can do this. You don't know Joe the way I do. Going in guns blazing… It can't end that way."

Raylan braked and set the Lincoln in park. "What are you gonna do with that then?" He pointed at the service revolver at her hip.

"I hope nothing," she said.

And before Raylan could stop her, Rachel exited the car and called out to her soon-t0-be ex-husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: Thanks for reading! A few months ago, I encountered an unexpected medical emergency which brought a halt to my favorite pastime—writing! I am still in healing mode, but things are looking a lot better than they were. I appreciate your patience and your continued interest in this fic. I haven't forgotten about it. As always, your feedback is lovely and appreciated. ☺]


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